


Reckless

by TimmyJaybird



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Daddy Issues, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:26:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian Wayne is dead, but not for long. When the Joker dumps his body in a Lazarus pit and Damian breathes a fresh, cold breath, he's left with the confusion of why this man would care about his life, and what to do with his new found existence- and the odd comfort he finds in what should be the most terrifying man in Gotham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've been thinking on this idea for a while, and finally decided to sit down and begin working on it. Updates will come slower than Savior ones did, as my semester is sadly starting up again :(

The Joker pulled the hat down lower on his brow as the Jeep made its way over the flat, arid land. The air was dry, hot, and he mildly wondered at the state of his make-up. The driver kept his eyes on the vast space before them, and the Joker was somewhat disappointed at the lack of wildlife he’d come across so far. Not that that was the point of his leave from Gotham to this wretchedly hot place.

He looked behind him at the locked case, reached back and touched a bare hand to it’s cool surface. No, he had other, greater reasons.

The sun was dipping beyond the horizon when he began to wonder if this man even _knew_ where he was going. He’d come highly recommended- and exceedingly expensive- but the Joker was beginning to have doubts. He reached up to the rack along the Jeep’s body and pulled himself up, pulling the sunglasses from his face and staring off into the distance. He could make out shapes, protrusions, but they were just a glimmer at this point.

“That’s what you’re lookin’ for, mate,” his driver said with a grin, “That pit.”

The Joker felt his heart leap, and he grinned, pulling his hat off to let the wind whip through his messy curls.

His driver, his guide, the name whose name he had learned but didn’t care to speak, helped him lift his case from the back after the Jeep was parked. The two of them carried it along the rocks, the man voicing once that it was heavy enough to be a body. The Joker just snickered.

Past the field of jagged rocks the ground dropped to a steep angle, and below the Joker saw it. His eyes nearly lit up as he and his guide set the case down. “Wait at the Jeep,” the Joker said, crouching down and peering down below. The man hesitated, then turned and left, leaving the Joker alone as the sky turned black. He waited until he could barely hear the footsteps, then turned to the case, entering a code to disarm the lock. He heard it release and gripped the lid with both hands, lifting it up. Cold air escaped in large wafts, chilling him suddenly.

Through the white vapors, inside the cold, was his prize. He reached down, carefully lifting the body from the cold. Despite the temperature and the fact that he’d been dead for days, he was surprisingly limp. Those chemicals the Joker had pumped into him he done the trick.

He cradled the cold body to his for a minute, naked and tanned a bronzed gold, before he stood up and made his way down the slope, slowly, careful not to lose his footing. He wasn’t the one that needed to go for a dip, after all.

When he finally reached a small cluster of rocks that set above the pool’s surface, and settled down on his knees, looking at the dead boy’s face. Behind those eyelids were the eyes of a Bat, he knew it. The eyes of a killer, a true masterpiece. He just needed to be _shown_ that truth. And the Joker wasn’t about to let death keep him from showing the boy true beauty.

He tossed him rather unceremoniously away from him, into the water, and waited. A moment passed, two, three, and he drummed his fingers on the rocks, for a second wondering if he had been wrong, if this had been a mistake and this was _not_ what he’d been looking for, when suddenly a few bubbles rose from the liquid, then the water parted and arms thrashed out, followed by a head and neck. The boy was gasping for air, thrashing, screaming at the top of his lungs, so loudly the Joker wondered if the Bat and his wretched family could hear half a world away.

He reached out, calling to the boy, managed to grasp his arm. He pulled him closer, pulled his shaking body from the pool, and the boy threw his arms around him, clinging and whimpering. For a moment the Joker didn’t move, frozen, before he wrapped his arms around him, stroking a hand down his naked spine.

“I’ve got you,” he said, “Take a deep brea-th.” The boy tried, cried out because it hurt, _everything hurt_ , and the Joker pushed his short dark hair back, stroking his head, his fingers chasing away the feeling of the fibers of his very existence being torn apart ans sewn back together. When that hand ghosted his cheek he nuzzled into it, wanted to dive into that pale flesh because it made everything _not hurt_. “Do you know who you are?” the Joker whispered, and the boy just shook his head, looking around frantically with such dark eyes they were nearly black. The Joker stroked his hair one more time, before cupping his face in his hands and looking down at him. “It’s okay, babybat,” he whispered, “I’ll help you remember.”

He took the jacket off that he had worn, despite the heat, to keep the sun off his obscenely pale skin, and wrapped it around the boy’s shoulders. He scooped him up into his arms again, and the boy wrapped his arms around his neck, holding on tightly as the Joker made the climb up the steep incline.

His guide had done as he asked, and had the Jeep running. The Joker took climbed in, ignoring his stares at the boy, and settled him on his lap. “Drive,” he said, glaring at the man, who obeyed under fear of those deadly green eyes, tearing off into the outback. The boy’s shaking began to subside as the air whipped around them, but he stayed leaning into the Joker, his mind a hazy of confusion and melting images, bursts of black and red and sudden pangs of white hot pain.

The man’s question was playing through his head, over and over again. _Do you know who you are?_ He looked up, caught the glimpse of one long, puckered scar along his cheek, and it seemed _familiar_. “Who am I?” he whispered in a broken, raw voice, his throat burning from lack of use.

“Your name,” he said, stroking his hair again, “Is Damian Wayne. You’re the last in a long line of Robins to a man called _Batman_ \- your father.” He stopped, ran his fingers down the side of his face, before he stroked his cheek with his thumb. “And you’re dead.”

The Jeep drove through the dark, switching from dry dirt to pavement, and the next thing Damian knew, he was being boarded onto a plane. The Joker helped him, held his hand, while his words rolled over in his head, over and over again. _Your name is Damian Wayne...And you’re dead._

The plane was small, but Damian didn’t care. He had no memory of being on one, but the Joker assured him as time went, his memories would return. He had clothing for him, and once Damian was dressed, he stretched out on a set of seats and closed his aching eyes, slipping into such a deep sleep the Joker had to lean close to his mouth to feel his breath. He didn’t wake for during the entire flight, sleeping as if he had never slept in his life. Later, he’d reflect he _hadn’r_ slept during this life.

He dreamed of memories, of men with faces he knew and masks and a father in a cape, who buried him in the cold hard ground with grandparents he never knew. He dreamed of a maniac clown with a heart stopping laugh, of a city that burned nightly, of the faint feeling that he had taken life, that he _could_ take life again. When he was pulled from that sleep he sat up abruptly, staring into the Joker’s eyes as he panted.

“What did you see?” he asked, and Damian’s mouth hardened into a tight line.

“The truth.”

It was raining when they left the small plane. The Joker held an umbrella over them as they walked through the dark. “I know who I am,” Damian said, looking down at his hands. “I...I know I’m _Robin_. And Batman-“

“Is your father,” the Joker said with a click of his tongue. “He buried you a few days ago.”

“I know who you are, too,” Damian said, looking up. “Why the _hell_ would you do anything for me?” The Joker chuckled, stopping to open a car door. Damian climbed in, slid over to the opposite seat, and the Joker slipped in, closing the door. A man sitting in the driver seat up front took off the moment the door clicked shut.

“Maybe I hated to see such talent go to waste,” he said, leaning his head back. His temples were pounding, and he longed to curl up and sleep for a very long time. He had gotten little sleep on the plane ride back, and what he had gotten had been restless. “Does it, ah, matter? You’re _alive_...now.”

Damian was quiet for a second, looking down at his hands. He flexed his fingers. They looked the same- same golden skin, shades darker than his father- same shape and size, but they _felt_ different. Like they were throbbing, like something bigger wanted to burst forth.

“So where are we going?” The Joker looked at him from the corners of his eyes, before closing them again.

“We’re going home.”

Damian knew the Joker had countless hideouts in Gotham. He was remembering this, the many times they’d found him in old apartments that should have been condemned, basements. But this, this was different. This was far more permanent seeming. Inside a locked building that looked as if it was just old office and storage, up one flight of creaky stairs, and behind a heavy, locked door, he found glimpses of almost _normal_ life. Almost.

The Joker took his jacket off and tossed it on a small table, shaking the water from his hair. Damian left his on, looking around at the lilac colored walls- they were _pretty_ , and that’s not what he would have expected. He hadn’t expected something so...domestic.

“Puddin’?” He heard the voice calling from another room, the sound of soft footsteps, bare skin on the wooden floor. Harley appeared, her blonde waves a tussled mess, like she had been sleeping. She looked far from the terrifying mass of instability that Damian saw in the recesses of his mind- she was in an over sized t-shirt and her underwear, and nothing else.

She gave the Joker a huge smile, before turning to look at Damian, and her smile turning to a drop of her jaw. “Puddin’...it worked!”

“I said it would,” he said, putting his hand between Damian’s shoulder blades and guiding him forward. Harley bent down to get eye level, smiling at him. It was a pretty smile, something not-quite-insane.

“The bird looks almost harmless without the tights,” she teased, brushing back some of his hair. “How ya feelin’ kiddo?” Damian didn’t know what to say, because truth be told, he wasn’t sure how or what he was feeling. All he knew was this wasn’t what he expected- this was normal and it _shouldn’t_ be. It was almost more normal than life with his father.

“He’s had some memory loss,” the Joker filled in, “But they’re coming back. Slowly.” Harley nodded, her hand dropping down to Damian’s shoulder and squeezing.

“I bet you’re hungry,” she said with that pretty smile again, “Are ya hungry? C’mon, I’ll make ya somethin’.” She stood up and took Damian’s hand, leading him away before he could say anything. When he turned back the Joker was watching with attentive green eyes, and a similar smile.

Damian couldn’t deny that he was hungry, like he’d never eaten in his life. Maybe it had to do with that dying thing. Maybe he was just nervous, being so close to Gotham’s leading crime lord and lady. Maybe, it was both. Harley wasn’t a great cook, and she confessed that as she hurried around the little kitchen, but the grilled peanut butter sandwich she set in front of him was one of the best things Damian had tasted, and in the back of his mind he apologized to Alfred and all the extravagant meals he’d made.

Harley sat with him while he ate, no talking, just watching, and Damian decided he didn’t mind. Her liked her eyes, those pretty crystal, when they weren’t obstructed by make-up or a half mask. He liked her smile, too. He liked seeing smiles inside domestic walls- his returning memories lacked a lot of those.

When he was done Harley led him into a small room, flicking the light on. It looked absolutely _normal_ , blue walls and a nicely made bed.

“I’m sure ya slept a lot on the plane,” she said, walking over to the bed and pulling the blanket back, “But sleepin’ in a real bed is _always_ better.” She patted the mattress and Damian walked over, stripping off the jacket he had. She slipped onto the bed and she pulled the blanket up, tucking him in like a child-

The child he was, that it was easy to forget. She smiled at him, was humming some sort of wordless melody. “I’ll see you in a few hours,” she said, getting up to leave, just as the Joker appeared in the doorway. She walked past him, giving him a quick sidelong glance, and he walked in. Damian felt his heart beat pick up a bit, a moment of fear because even if he looked oddly calm, _this was the Joker_.

“I, ah, know that look,” he said, stopping and looking down at Damian. “ _Fear_. Just a hint.”

“I remember what you are.” The Joker chuckled, sitting down on the bed, and for a moment Damian wondered if there was a bedtime story involved. It would be the perfect end to a weird day- after all, he had started it dead.

“And yet, here you lay.”

“What if I leave in the middle of the night?” Damian asked, sitting up slightly. “Leave and go back to my father, let him know where you are.”

“You could,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “There’s nothing stopping you, babybat. Harley and I won’t stand in front of that door, and I’m sure you could find your way home.” He reached out, traced Damian’s cheek in an oddly tender touch, one Damian pushed into before he could realize it- his body telling him _this was good_ and _this is the hand that pushed the pain away_. The Joker let him, kept his cool hand there. “Just remember,” he said, fingers flexing slightly, “Who gave you the chance to walk back home.” He stood up, pulling back and turning, walking to the door. He stopped, looked back at Damian, caught his dark eyes. “And remember what you were back then. Do you want to be Robin forever, Damian? Or do you want to live up to all of your _potential_.”

He flicked the light off and left Damian to the black.

Damian saw his father in his dreams. He saw him without the cowl, in a suit, those serious eyes and that straight lipped look. He saw how dead those blue-black pools were, from years of wear from Gotham, years of torment. From getting close, too close- that’s what he’d said, one night. He’d gotten too close to chaos, and it had drained him. Damian had asked what chaos, and his father had simply said _the kind with red lips that spell murder_. And Damian knew. Everyone knew, the whole family, that something wasn’t _right_ when it came to those two, but no one dared broach the subject with Bruce. That was his torment, and his alone.

Damian saw him now, nearly lifeless, holding the cowl and cape. He reached for it, and he was speaking, or he was hearing his voice. Asking his father to set it down, to walk away, to give the mantle to someone else. Let him take the burden for a night-

When he touched it Bruce recoiled, mouth splitting wide into gaping pointed teeth as he screeched. Damian jumped back, but the ground opened up beneath him, and he fell into a small, neatly dug hole. He landed on his back, grunted on impact, and tried to sit up. His limbs felt like lead and would not respond, and he stared up at Bruce appeared, in his cowl and cape now. He had a shovel, and dropped a pile of dirt onto Damian’s chest. Damian screamed up to stop, that he was alive, but Bruce kept shoveling- and slowly, he wasn’t alone. Familiar faces appeared, covering him with dirt- Alfred was there, and Dick, and Damian screamed and screamed but they didn’t hear him. He screamed until the dirt was in his mouth and too heavy on his chest, and he was seeing black again and trying to thrash-

His eyes shot open as he felt someone lifting his torso up to hold it against their lithe body. He was panting, gasping for breath, and he reached out, clutching onto a shirt and burying his face in it, shaking. The word _father_ was on his lips, but the fingers that threaded through his hair were too long and nimble, the body too thin. He looked up, eyes trying to adjust to the dark, and made out the shape of that lean face, those curls.

Damian went limp and fell into his arms, not fighting it, shivering as the sweat he was drenched in began to dry. The Joker didn’t say a word, he just held him in the dark, pulled him from his not-so-shallow grave and gave him a breath of fresh, cold air.

When Damian awoke again, it was from a dreamless sleep. He rolled from his stomach onto his side, looked at the open door to the bedroom, at the light streaming in from the hallway. He lay there for a minute, letting the sleep fade, before he stood up, making his way towards the light.

He could hear voices, distantly. Speaking low, but passionately. Harley was louder, he heard her voice clearly first as he made his way down the hallway.

“I know he owed ya a favor, Puddin’, but there’s no way he owed you enough for his private jet, the money for that guide, for gettin’ Freeze to share some of his skills with ya. He’s gonna collect and it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

“You worry too much,” the Joker said, “Cobblepot’s nothing to worry about. He’ll need me again, and before he knows it, I won’t owe him a thing.”

“If we pull somethin’ big off, we wouldn’t have ta wait ‘til then.”

“Not yet.” There was a pause. “I’ve got to figure out what to do with the boy-“

“I hope you’ll share.” Damian leaned against the doorway, saw Harley was sitting folded up on a couch, the Joker leaning by a window. She smiled at him, and the Joker gave him one of his half-smirks.

“I will,” he said, motioning Damian in. “I see you didn’t leave us in the middle of the night.”

“No,” Damian said, though he had thought about it. Even when he woke from those nightmares, he had thought about it- until he’d been locked in those arms, and he could see why his father had so easily fallen into chaos. Chaos was oddly alluring. Chaos was oddly comforting. He sat down next to Harley. “Are you going to ship me off to my father as some sort of peace treaty?”

“I’d thought about it,” the Joker admitted, “But nothing would move the Bat, make up for all he thinks I’ve done.”

_Jason_ Damian knows, and he watches those lively eyes go dark, dim. He hates it, doesn’t like that look, and is shocked at how passionately he wants the color to return.

“Then what’re you going to do with me?” Damian asked as Harley tucked an arm around him. The Joker drummed his fingers on the window sill, watching him, staring _into_ him, before he finally spoke again.

“That depends,” he started, “What do you want us to do with you?”

For a moment, Damian thought once again to simply say _send me home_ , to ask to be returned to the life he knew before death. To ask for everything to go back to normal- but he knew there was no hope of that. Normal was dead, at least for him. You didn’t sleep in that cold embrace and then come back just to pick up the pieces where you left them. No, you came back and stepped on them until they were dust, then mixed that dust with water and turned it to paint.

You painted a new life with the ashes of your old one, Damian was sure. So he leaned against Harley and kept eye contact with the Joker while he spoke, the words hurting most of him, making his chest tight for what he was giving up, but breathing life into something deep in his core that had been so neglected.

“Keep me,” he whispered, and the Joker gave him the most dazzling smile he’d ever seen.


	2. Chapter 2

Damian spent three days trying to sort through the memories that kept coming and going. He didn’t leave the make-shift home, even though the Joker and Harley did on separate occasions. One of them was always there, and he found it oddly comforting.

At night he’d wake up screaming and bathed in sweat, having been buried alive or drowning or watching himself bleed out on the streets. And every time the Joker was there, silent, pushing the nightmares back. Damian never asked if he screamed in his sleep and it woke him, because they never spoke of it, but Harley acted as if it never happened, and Damian wondered if the clown just _knew_ when something was wrong. He wondered if the man could have found a way so deep inside him already.

The memories came back in spurts, at random times. Sometimes he’d just _remember_ or _know_ something, and there was nothing more to it. But sometimes, sometimes they came in episodes that left him a quivering, gasping mess, not sure if he was living them then or just seeing them in his head. Those could last thirty seconds or five minutes- the longer ones usually left him exhausted or angry.

He was sitting on the couch, being almost normal when this one hit. One minute he’s watching the Joker cleaning a knife at a small desk, being obsessively meticulous about the shine of the blade, the next he’s in his suit and standing in the rain, watching the man open up a woman’s throat and laugh as she bled out on the wet pavement. Her body crumpled, lay next to others, all the hostages he’d promised to release if he got Batman. But they’d been dead already, except this one, and now there was nothing but blood and _more blood_ and Damian could see countless dead eyes staring at him.

There were hands on his shoulders, gripping him tightly, when his eyes rolled back from the back of his head. He stared into those same green eyes, and gritted his teeth.

“You’re alright,” the Joker said, before Damian tore away from his touch and shoved him off. The Joker stumbled, but didn’t make a sound. He straightened as Damian stood.

“You’re a monster,” he said, as if he could have forgotten. Truthfully, he hadn’t, but seeing things so vividly in his head- it reminded him how _real_ everything was. “God, the blood-“

“Damian,” he said, voice low, “Look where you are. There’s no, ah, _blood_ here.”

“There’s always blood with you,” he said, his breathing escalating. “Always blood, always death...always a monster, monster...always...” He trailed off, muttering, feeling like he was too hot in his skin. The Joker took a step towards him and he nearly growled, lashing out and punching him in the side. The Joker stumbled, ended up crouched down, one hand on the rug. He watched Damian, saw the next strike and reached up, grabbing his wrist. He stood up and dragged him close.

“Get a hold of yourself,” he said, and Damian tore away, taking a step back. All he could see was blood, on the floor, the walls, the Joker’s hands and his own. The blood of the city- of Gotham- the city he was supposed to be protecting.

_Why protect what wouldn’t fight for you?_

He screamed, at the voice inside his head, and lunged, managed to reach up and punch the Joker in the jaw, splitting his lip open. The Joker grabbed him, arms locking around his waist, and dragged him down onto the floor, so Damian was sprawled between his legs. He held him firmly as Damian thrashed, pupils barely pin pricks inside his eyes.

“Damian!” he yelled, holding him tighter, until he stilled, went limp against him. The Joker hesitated a moment, before reaching up, stroking his hair and the back of his neck. Damian took a deep breath- breathed in the warm, sweet scent of the man holding him, nuzzled into his chest, afraid to look, afraid at what he might see. “You’re alright,” he said softly, and Damian looked up.

The only blood he saw was one line on the Joker’s chin, form the split in his lip _that he had caused_. Damian stared at it for a moment- it seemed different from what he swore he’d just seen. Rich and warm, a perfect red, not a stale rust, not nearly black. _Something beautiful_.

Damian pushed himself up, tilting his head and leaning in close. His little pink tongue darted out, tracing up that trail, to the edge of the Joker’s lips, letting the salty-coppery taste warm his mouth. The Joker’s breath hitched beneath him, and Damian wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t care in that moment. The taste on his tongue was rich and he wanted _more_ -

The Joker grasped him by his shoulders and pushed him back a little, sitting up properly. “What did you see this time?” Damian didn’t take his eyes away from those red lips.

“Blood. Everywhere. You slit a woman’s throat. You slit a lot of throats. Wanted Batman, said they’d live if you got him. But he came and you still killed them.” The Joker traced his cheek delicately.

“I never got my Bat,” he said, and Damian saw a flicker of sadness in those eyes. He didn’t like it, and he leaned in, pressing his lips to the corner of the Joker’s mouth, getting the last of that tangy coppery taste in his mouth. When he leaned back, the Joker was watching him with a forced look of detachment- like he _had_ to try and separate himself from this. “Just remember something when you grieve for this bleeding city, Damian.”

“What?”

“That it will never bleed for you.” Damian didn’t say anything for a moment, then moved slowly, curling up against the clown’s chest to listen to beats of his heart.

Damian knew something was wrong after he’d been locked up more than two weeks. The Joker was pacing on evening, screaming into a cell phone, while Harley watched with an nervous sort of agitation. So intent on him, she hadn’t seen Damian leave his room at the noises of the Joker’s voice. He was hanging up when he walked out, but he pressed against the corner and peered into what would be a living room, watching as Harley reached for the Joker, missed his hand.

“Puddin’, we can’t just sit here. As much as I like bein’ _domestic_ with ya, this isn’t a pretty neighborhood with a white picket fence. If we don’t do somethin’ soon, Penguin will be down our throats- and we don’t need more enemies.”

“Fine,” the Joker said, gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles were going white. He turned and flung it against the wall, watched the screen shatter. “Fine. I need time, space-“

“I can help,” Damian said, coming closer. Harley and the Joker jerked their heads towards him, and then the Joker was shaking his head.

“You’re unstable,” he said, and Damian bit back the retort that the Joker was the single most unstable man in Gotham, “Both of you, just go. I need space to think.”

Harley stood up, guiding Damian away. Damian expected to just sit in another room for five or ten minutes, but Harley actually took him to the door and guided him out.

“Take a walk with me,” she said, taking his hand. They walked down dusty, creaky stairs, past the floor level that was closed off, and down a small stairs case that led into a basement. Harley pulled a key form her pocket and unlocked the door, pushing it open and leading Damian inside. She flicked a light on, and Damian looked around quickly. Hanging on the walls were various weapons- guns, mostly, but he saw a case in the corner that was _filled_ with knives.

“Normally he does his thinkin’ down here,” Harley said, hopping up onto the metal table in the center of the room. “But he’s pretty frazzled right now, I think he just needed ta be alone.” Damian hopped up next to her. “Ya know, you remind him of Bats.”

“Really?” Harley nodded.

“Yeah. You were sleepin’ the other night when he went off that you’re just a _babybat_. He thinks you could be just as great as your father someday.” She reached over, rubbed between his shoulders. “Ya know...if ya need to _talk_ or somethin’, you can. If not to him, than ta me.”

“Are you going to try and psychoanalize me?” Damian asked, reminding himself this woman was _smart_ , and she only laughed.

“Those days are gone,” she admitted, “I gave that up when I followed Mr. J into...this.”

“Do you regeret it?” Damian wondered for a moment if anyone had asked her that. He was sure his father must have, one upon a time- but it had probably been so long it was as if _no one cared_.

Harley thought on it a second, then gave him a sad sort of smile. “Some days,” she admitted, “But not because I’m unhappy. Because somedays I think I would’ve been more help to him if I had stayed Harleen.” She folded her hands in her lap, and Damian thought she was _pretty_ sitting there in the fake light- no make up of any sort, thick, tussled blonde hair.

“You must really love him, then.” She laughed then, reaching up to cover her mouth. She choked on it, reached over to mess with Damian’s hair.

“Maybe once,” she said, “Maybe sometime ago. But this isn’t _love_ , kiddo, this is some sort of obsessive need to understand...to see how he reacts and thinks, even after all this time. I want to understand him, I always did. Ya won’t catch me sayin’ I’d turn him down for a night of fun or anything, but my heart doesn’t beat like it used to around him.” She sighed. “I wanna see him happy though. Maybe that’s why I’m still here. Why I’ll always be here, because I don’t know if that can ever happen until this whole city has burnt to the ground and he’s got your daddy at his feet.”

Damian didn’t say anything, but when Harley wrapped an arm around his shoulders he leaned into her, accepting her partial hold, the warmth emanating from her.

They sat in silence for a long time, and Damian didn’t mind. He could hear the Joker before he unlocked the door, the stairs giving him away even if his footsteps were light. When he walked in Harley and Damian looked over, but didn’t move. He’d thrown his jacket off back up in the apartments, had his sleeves rolled up and his tie loose. But he was _grinning_ , the kind of grin Damian remembered, from somewhere deep in his mind. The kind that meant trouble.

“Would you two mind?” He asked, not unkindly, and Harley slipped off the table, helping Damian. When she walked by him she stopped to kiss his cheek, and he gave her a smile- not a loving smile, Damian didn’t think that word was right, but some sort of genuine emotion he didn’t have a name for. It still was hard to swallow that they could seem so _normal_.

He walked by and looked up, stared at those red lips, and saw the Joker struggle to swallow. Then he was closed off in the room, alone, and Damian was left to wonder what his brain was thinking.

A bank heist. Damian should have seen it coming, it was the most logical way to get the massive amounts of cash they needed, and fast. He’d been listening, and he knew that whatever strings the Joker had pulled with the Penguin to use his jet, his money, and his ties to Freeze had far exceeded any favors the Penguin may have owed the Joker. He needed to pay back, and with interest- and _yesterday_.

The plan was late afternoon- before the Bat was usually out. They’d have two teams- one team would creaet a distraction across town, a nice big explosion to draw attention of the authorities- and _him_ when he did hear- while the other would focus on the bank itself. They’d clear as much as they would, in and out quick, and take it to Penguin that night. The Joker could even get most of the help from him, if he clued him in.

“I don’t like usin’ his men,” Harley said. They were sitting at the table in the kitchen, and if it weren’t for the topic of discussion and the slight _oddity_ to the Joker’s looks, it could almost be like a family dinner.

“I don’t either,” the Joker admitted. “But it’s short notice, not much of a choice. I can pull in a few we’ve used in the past. They’ll be with you on the distraction, Harley.”

“They outta be with you, Puddin’. The bank is more important.”

“I need the distraction to go off without a hitch,” he said, drumming his fingers on the table. “I need to know it’s done, because I won’t be able to check. You’ll have a short window to do it, and if it doesn’t go off without a hitch, I’ll be walking into a death trap.” Harley sighed, and he reached over, taking her hand.

“I can help,” Damian said, and they both looked at him. The Joker chuckled.

“No,” he said, “Sorry babybat, but no. You’re...you’re not clear on what you want yet. I can’t risk having you there and then going off and helping the cops...or the Bat.” Damian sighed, and the Joker reached over, patting his shoulder. “I won’t keep you locked up forever. I promise.”

It took all of two days to get everything organized. The Joker didn’t sleep the night before, Damian heard him up pacing. He wondered if this is what he was always like- or had always been like. He knew he’d been changing over the years, remembered his father mentioning it. Pulling into himself, pulling away from everything else.

Harley left first. She kissed Damian on the temple- he wouldn’t tell her how much he liked it- and stopped the push the Joker against the door frame and give him a long kiss. Then she was gone, a mass of mostly black with highlights of red, and two thick, blonde pigtails. The Joker left shortly after, telling Damian to stay locked inside. If they weren’t back by morning, he was free to roam Gotham and do as he pleased- be it having a little fun, or running back to his father.

Damian pressed his ear to the door once the Joker was gone, and waited until he heard the creaking of doors below. He flew out the door after him, taking the stairs two at a time, and bursting out into the rather deserted street. He knew which bank they had targeted, so he didn’t need to follow him.

He made good time getting across Gotham. He kept his head down, in the off chance one of the family was out, and slipped into the bank with a quick look at a clock inside. Ten minutes until it started. He was sure the Joker was watching, but he had confidence he had his hands full with the men, and that he wouldn’t have noticed.

Damian followed a woman, made it seem as if she had come in with her, and when no one was looking, slipped into an empty little cubicle. He crouched down, out of sight, waiting. He couldn’t say exactly why he was there- part of him wanted some fresh air, part of him wanted to see how the Joker worked-

And part of him wanted to take him down, to call his father and say that _he was alive_ and he’d brought down the Crime Prince himself. Part of him was clinging to that old reality.

He watched it unfold from his hiding spot. The men came in first- masked, rounded up the hostages. Two men stayed on them, while two others went ahead to ransack the back, loading as much cash into duffle bags as they could. And the Joker stood at the center of it, constantly checking the time, telling the men to hurry up.

It was about six minutes in when the Joker told them they _had to leave_. He’d timed it down to a second and Damian knew he’d stayed longer than he wanted already. For once, the point wasn’t to engage the cops, or Batman, the point was to get in and get out. The men holding the hostages stepped back, dropping a small canister. It releases a thick white smoke, but stays rather contained. They began to cough, to choke, to collapse, and it’s not Joker venom because _they’re not smiling_.

The Joker yells at one of the men, cursing them out. “That wasn’t the plan,” he said, and it occurred to Damian that maybe he was actually going to let them live. _Maybe_.

The man who had dropped the canister smirks, lifting his gun. “It was part of _our_ plan.” He fires, and Damian’s throat constricts. The Joker was moving before the bullet left the barrel, and grabs it, jerking it up and smacking the man in the face with it. He falls down, smacks his head, and is out cold-

But the other thug has his gun pointed at the Joker, finger on the trigger. “Toss it,” he said, and the Joker turned slowly, tossing the gun down. Damian hesitates a moment, before he crawls out, the gun in sight. His eyes stay on the two men, neither looking at him, neither seeing anything outside of themselves. The man is talking, babbling too much- a weakness, talking- about how it was nothing personal, but the boss had said he just wasn’t worth a damn anymore-

Damian grabs the gun and stands up, taking a few steps towards him. The Joker sees him, he knows it, he saw those green eyes jump, widen just a bit, not enough to get the man to stop talking. A moment later, and the man steadies his gun, aims-

Damian doesn’t think. He lifts the gun and pulls the trigger, sending a round of bullets into the man’s shoulders and back. He jerks, rops the gun, falls down, and Damian plants a foot firmly on his back, firing into the back of his head to _make sure he doesn’t get up again_.

Damian’s body shook. He tossed the gun aside, felt his head going fuzzy, but the Joker’s arms wrapped around him, lifted him up and held in with one arm. Damian clung to his neck as he moved, saw him pick up one of the guns. He closed his eyes, but heard the shot as the Joker shot the unconscious man, and then they are moving. There are sirens in the distance, and Damian knew this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

The Joker sets him down outside the back entrance, gives him that look that says _don’t move_ , and makes his way to the car that is waiting- trunk filled with their prizes. The Joker tore open the passenger side door, shot the man sitting there in the head, then the driver in the chest. He’s quick to pull the body free, shove it aside. He threw the gun in the backseat, then beckoned to Damian, who moved on legs that felt like liquid. He climbed in and the Joker ran around the car, jerking the other body out, and they’re off, slipping into the streets before anyone can see the horrors inside the bank.

Damian doesn’t say a word, he leaned his forehead against the cool glass as they drove. The city blurred around him, and he closed his eyes, his body feeling like lead. Only when the car rolls to a stop does he open his eyes, and by then the late afternoon sky has turned to dark evening. He didn’t think they’d gone far, which meant the Joker was driving circles, making sure they weren’t being followed.

The Joker got out of the car, popped the trunk, started tossing out the duffle bags. There were four, in all, and he left one in the trunk as he closed it, three on the ground. He was just turning when a car drove up- a nice car, with windows tinted black. A man got out of the front set and hurried to open the back passenger door. Damian watched as the Penguin climbed out, fixing his jacket and giving the Joker a sadistic smile.

“Went off without a hitch, I take it?” he asked, and the Joker kicked one of the bags towards him.

“Your men are dead,” he said, “Next time you order them to _kill me_ , remind them you give horrible advice.” The Penguin just chuckled as the other man lifted the bags and stowed them away in the car. Damian watched, turning in the seat and clinging to it. A few more angry words that slurred into just sounds, and the Penguin is climbing back in his car. He took one long look at Damian though- _saw_ him, and that smile never faded.

When the car is just a spot in the skyline Damian threw the door open and stumbled out. Holding onto the hood of the car, he walked around it, waited until the Joker had turned and stared at him for a moment. He took a deep breath and let go then, running over and throwing his arms around the man’s waist, burying his face into him. The Joker held him, got down on his knees on the dirty pavement, and stroked down his spine.

“Did you know they were going to kill you?”

“I thought they might, ah, try,” he said, brushing back Damian’s hair. “I told you stay inside.”

“I...I...” Damian bit his tongue, didn’t finish his thought. He had left for a lot of reasons, but he realized he’d stayed for one-

He didn’t like the idea of losing the Joker. He didn’t like the idea of anyone putting a bullet between those intensely acidic emerald eyes. The mere thought made him feel... _unlike_ himself- not that he was even sure who he was personality wise, if he was himself or some new shadow of his past existance. But he knew his chest ached at the thought of this man leaving, and he’d never felt something so deep inside himself.

He was quivering and the Joker pressed his scarred cheek to his temple. “I was afraid he’d kill you,” Damian whispered, “And I didn’t want that. I don’t want _anyone_ to hurt you, daddy.”

The words registered, but Damian didn’t remember telling his tongue to speak them. He sounded like a broken child, when he was an assassin, he knew, in his bones. But the trembles wouldn’t go, and the Joker suddenly held him tighter, his lips on his temple, his cheek, the bridge of his nose. And when Damian looked up, those eyes had softened to silk he could wrap himself in, sleep for an eternity until he was ready to place a name to his face again, a reason behind his rebirth.


	3. Chapter 3

The night air was pleasantly warm, Damian noted. He was in the Narrows, waiting for a meeting with one of the many dealers he had to keep an eye on. It wasn’t the most _exciting_ job in the world, but he wouldn’t fault J and H for finally giving him something to do.

It had taken them years. He was fifteen now, he’d spent countless nights in the their shadows, watching them work, learning the trade. They’d started by letting him just listen, listen as they worked, as the Joker decided he’d had enough, it was time to build up an empire again. Instill some fear, get his fingers threaded into power. The incident with Penguin had seemed to shake him a bit.

Damian chewed on the inside of his cheek. He remembered that day _perfectly_ , like it had just happened. Spraying bullets into a man ready to gun down the single most unstable, nonsensical man in Gotham. Well, at least according to most. Damian dared to disagree- he didn’t find the Joker unstable at all now. No, there was a method to his madness, something deep inside him that no one could see.

It was something Damian _wanted_.

The guy showed up later than he shoulder have. Damian chewed him out for wasting his time, told him he was slacking- the streets they had this guy working should be bringing in _way_ more. If he found out the guy was skimming off the profits, he’d gut him. Pure and simple.

The guy’s face had gone pallid by the end, nodding furiously. It didn’t matter that he was bigger than Damian, more weight to his muscle, more height, that Damian was, to most, still a kid. It didn’t matter because Damian already had a reputation. He’d had one as Robin, but now- now he was _unhinged_ as most would say.

He reached a hand into his pocket, fingering one of the knives he had on him. The Joker was more than happy to bestow little gifts on him, new knives whenever the man saw fit. This one hadn’t seen flesh yet, and Damian was itching for an excuse. Not that he really needed one- he had good old J and H’s permission to go _batshit_ on nearly anyone, at least on the lower end of the food chain. Still, he wanted to seem controlled, and he didn’t want to disrupt the network the Joker had been working years on. Drugs, it had a lot to do with that, even if the man never once touched them himself. But if it was any sort of shady activity in Gotham, the clown had his hand in it now. Which meant, so did Damian.

Once the guy had left, Damian turned and walked towards where he’d stowed his bike. Funny how most fifteen-year-olds couldn’t even drive. He liked when rules didn’t apply to him. He liked the way it made something inside him _grin_.

He stopped before entering the alley, tilting his head up, listening. He’d heard it, he knew. That soft sound of light feet on rooftops, on metal. He grinned and spun around, just as the shadowy figure landed.

“I was wondering when I’d see one of you again,” he said, and Nightwing walked towards him through the dark.

“Damian,” he started, his eyes a broken sort of blue at seeing him, and the boy rolled his eyes.

“Don’t go and get sentimental on me. The whole _family_ does, and quite frankly, it’s unbearable.”

“He’s brainwashed you,” Nightwing said, stopping a few strides away. “You know it, inside you. You know he’s a sick man, that he kept you locked away form the world for nearly _two years_. It gave him time to get inside your head. Hell, even _we_ didn’t know you were alive.”

“Bullshit and you know it!” Damian folded his arms. “You mean to tell me _he_ didn’t know. I love that you all claim ignorance, but you know nothing happens in this city without Bruce knowing.”

“Your father-“

“Isn’t my father anymore.” Damian took a step closer. “He stopped being my father when he buried me. The whole family stopped meaning something to me when you buried me.”

“You were _dead_!” Dick’s voice cracked, and he reached up, covering his mouth for a moment, trying to compose himself. “Damian,” he started, slowly, “You don’t know how much we _hurt_. Bruce...he was _broken_. And I...”

Damian gritted his teeth. “I don’t wanna hear it,” he said, “I’m not comin’ back. I’ve got a new family now- and I like this one _more_.”

“You’re sick,” Dick said, reaching out, “the Lazarus Pits, they mess with your mind. We can help you. We can turn you back into-“

“I don’t wanna turn into anything other than what I am!” Damian lashed out, making a fist and connecting it with Dick’s jaw. “You don’t _understand_ , Dick. I wasn’t myself with you, with Bruce. I wasn’t myself when I died. Maybe I’m not entirely myself now, either, but I’m a hell of a lot closer.” Dick watched him, eyes alert, rubbing his jaw. “So I’m gonna give you the chance to walk away,” he said, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out the knife, flicking it open. “Walk away. Go home to your next, to papa Bat and the other dumb birds. Go home and leave me be, and tell them Robin is dead and gone, but Damian...Damian is reborn.”

“I can’t do that, Damian,” Dick said. “You know I can’t. You know too much. You know the insides of how the Joker works. I can’t just let you walk away.” Damian clicked his tongue, then flashed a grin- a grin that was shocking far too similar to the Joker’s.

“Your funeral, Dick.” He lunged out, and Dick jumped away, the knife slicing his suit but just missing skin. Damian was quick to stop, throw himself down into a crouch and press one hand into the pavement to help him turn, charge again. Dick was ready this time, braced, and he grabbed him and threw him back. Damian flew through the air, landed against an old brick building, felt his deep emerald jacket tearing. He frowned. He _liked_ that jacket. Green was a good color on him- besides, it was a family color.

“Don’t do this, Damian.” The boy gritted his teeth and forced himself up, lunging. He caught Dick as he faked right, hooked his fist to his jaw, then his knife to his thigh. Dick stumbled, fell, and as Damian readied to bend over him and cut him open, shoved his boot into his chest and sent him flying back. The knife clattered to the pavement and was lost in the dark. Dick staggered up before Damian, blood running down his thigh. He was scowling, Damian saw as he pushed himself up on his elbows, and there was something in those baby blues. Some sort of resignation.

Dick turned and was gone, leaving Damian alone on the pavement. He flopped back down, staring up at the black sky, body humming with fresh aches. But he was _alive_ \- that was the important part, that was what J always told him. He was alive, that was what counted. Worry about the rest later.

He gave himself a minute to catch his breath, then stood up, made his way to his bike, and sped off into the night.

He had to park and hide the bike in an old dumpster. The outside looked grimy, but the inside was shockingly pristine. This one was his, just for his bike and a few of his things, a block down from home. Should anything ever haqppen, Damian just needed to make it here, and he’d be gone into the night, forever. He’d _survive_ , because that was what he did now. He survived.

He crept to the building, let himself in, past the key lock, the code, and another code. They’d gotten _safer_ over the years. Maybe J and H decided they really liked having a place to call home. Damian knew he didn’t mind.

He let himself into the little apartment style hideout, locking the door behind him. Harley called out to him, and he walked into the living room, all dirt and torn clothing and bruises forming under his shirt, and gave her a grin.

“Hey H,” he said, and she looked up from her book, then dropped it on the floor. She stood up and rushed over, poking at his clothing, trying to examine him.

“Dami,” she exhaled, “God, what happened to you? This was routine- did that kid get _ideas_? Are we dealing with a little mutiny? Are you bleeding?”

“I’m fine,” he said, waving her off as he pulled his jacket off. “Though I liked this jacket...” Harley looked at him, then laughed, taking it and tossing it behind her.

“We’ll getcha a new one, baby. Sit down and let me look at you.” Damian collapsed onto the couch, let Harley pull his shirt over his head and examine his torso. She poked at his ribs, felt his abdomen, looked at his spine.

“Just bruises come morning,” Damian said, “it was nothing. I...I ran into Nightwing is all.” Harley stopped and leaned back, looking at him with wide eyes, and that was when Damian saw the shadow of the Joker as he moved into the room.

“How did good old bird brain fair?” the Joker asked, and Damian shrugged a shoulder.

“Stabbed him in his thigh. He had his chance to get me back though, knocked me down pretty good. He ran off though- he was mostly talk, didn’t wanna play. I lost my new knife.” Damian looked down, a little ashamed that he had, and that he hadn’t caused more damage. The Joker crossed the room, crouched down and tipped Damian’s chin back up. He was smiling.

“You did good Babybat,” he said, “I’m sure you rattled him. He wasn’t your agenda tonight, anyway. Lets get you cleaned up, and tell me how your meetings went.”

Herley stepped back and let the Joker take Damian to his room, came in a moment later to leave a first aid kit with him, and then was gone again. Joker didn’t need to say a word to her, she just knew, Damian knew she just knew, that he needed to be with _just_ Damian. He stripped of his shirt without being asked, let the Joker run his fingers along his chest and ribs. When Damian turned so he could touch his spine, hie bit his lip and held in his breath, afraid of the noises he’d make when those fingertips brushed sensitive skin.

“Don’t hold your breath,” the Joker whispered, and Damian exhaled, a little sound escaping him. He cursed it. He cursed the odd things this man did to him, because he didn’t understand them. Sure, he knew what arousal was, he was a teenage guy, but this...this was something all together different. And this man...

He was the Joker. He was the man who had given him life. He was a _father_.

The thought made something tighten in Damian’s stomach.

“Harley was right,” the Joker said, opening the first aid kit to disinfect and wrap some of Damian’s upper arm that had been skinned against the pavement after his jacket ripped. “No real damage.” The disinfectant stung, and Damian hissed, but didn’t fight. When the bandage was in place, the Joker stood up. “Now, get dressed again,” he said, “We have something else to attend to tonight.”

Damian changed after the man left, then met him and Harley by the door. The Joker’s make up was pristine, and Harley’s lips were a matching murder-red, her little mask in place. Damian knew whatever this was, it was _serious_.

The Joker drove, his hands gloved in purple leather. He had a calm about him, Damian could nearly smell it in the air. He wanted to smell it in the Joker’s hair, those wisps of short curly green that he had had Harley chop- as if he remind everyone he was _in control_ , not unstable.

Damian dug his nails into his palms at the idea.

They parked at the docks, moved as one being, Joker leading with Harley just to his right and Damian a step behind, to his left. Damian smelled it before he saw them- smelled fear and the light tang of blood, _just a little_ \- and then he saw them. Gagged and bound, on their knees, four men, two men with clown masks keeping them form moving by the gun muzzles pointed at them.

“Thank you boys,” the Joker said, clapping his hands onto their shoulders. “For doing such fine work at such short notice. Go have a cigarette, we’ll need a few minutes alone.” The men gave him a nod and were gone, like smoke. Years ago, the Joker didn’t have as many _loyal_ men, as he was just as likely to shoot his own thugs as say, a cop. But now, with the city changing, he had men- he had power.

And, Damian mused, by the looks of the four men staring up with wide, quivering eyes- he had fear.

“You have been naughty boys,” he said, reaching inside his large purple trench coat, pulling a heavy hunting knife from a sheath. “ _Very_ naughty. You weren’t just skimming of the top- no, no no no _no_. You’ve been going behind my back to that ugly oil-slicked fat bird.” His teeth gleamed as he snarled. “ _Penguin_. And, why, we can’t have that. No, we simply can’t. So-“ He looked over at Harley, who gave him a dazzling smile, and then turned and looked at Damian, “What are we to do?”

Harley crouched down and tore the cloth gag from one man’s mouth. Damian knew him- vaguely. He worked with all the head dealers, and then their underlings, their runners. This guy had four guys under him-

They were missing one. And Damian knew who. He looked at the Joker as the man spoke, his voice shaking, breaking.

“P-please boss, we’re sorry. He...he gave us no real choice. Threatened our lives, been watchin’ us.”

“Hmmmm,” the Joker mumbled, pressing the point of his knife into his pointer finger and twisting it, just enough fore to dent but not break skin. “Do you believe him, pumpkin?”

“I think men lie when they’re scared,” she said, leaning closer to him, “but tell the truth when they’re utterly terrified.” She looked back and nodded, and the Joker nonchalantly gripped the knife and pulled back, throwing it into the chest of one of the men. He made a gurgling sound around his gag, then fell back, the aim precise, his heart skewered. Damian didn’t flinch.

“I think you’re right doll,” he said. He pulled an identical knife from his other hip. “So, the truth, this time.”

“Paid us three times as much!” the guy cried, tears streaming down his face. “Said we’d get more money with every bit of information we got him. I told him w-we didn’t know too much, we just run drugs, but he was willing to take everything we g-got. H-he’s got somethin’ against ya, sir. He wants ya dead. He wants ya outta this city.”

The Joker tapped the blade of the knife against his chin. He looked down at Harley, and Damian saw the conversation passing between their eyes. This guy had nothing else useful. And they weren’t about to let this pass. The Joker gave a slight nod of his head, and Harley stood up, pulling a hammer from her belt- a hammer with a nasty looking spike at its end. She walked over to one of the men, twirled it once, then brought it down with crushing force into his face. The man crumpled down, and she kicked his limp body away, turning to the remaining man and plunging the spiked end into his temple. She pulled back and crashed it into the back of his skull, then left him to bleed out, dead.

Damian liked the way she moved. He envied how she used those hammers. She had force behind them- he’d held them, they were heavy, he wasn’t sure how she swung them so perfectly. He’d seen her with two at once, and it was _magic_. She understood the Joker more than she’d ever realize, Damian knew, just in the way she could dance his bloody waltz without stepping on her dress.

The Joker turned to Damian, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Babybat,” he said, “This man needs to be punished for what he did. And I, ah, want you to do it.” He flipped the knife, held it by the blade and let Damian grip the handle. Damian looked at it for a moment, felt its weight in his hand, and stared at the man with eyes so wide he saw more white than color.

“P-please kid,” he said, “D-don’t do this.”

Damian clicked his tongue, took a step towards him, cocked his head. Waited. Smelled the water from the bay in the air, the smell of Harley’s rich perfume, the Joker’s heavy cologne, mixing with blood for a tangy-sweet, heady mixture. He inhaled deeply, looked the man in the eyes-

And grinned, horribly. He placed a foot to his chest and kicked him, so he landed on his back, leaped onto him, sitting on his waist. He held the knife over his head, plunged it deep, just below the color bone, and dragged it down, inching back until he had a deep line down his belly. Bloody was surging up through the man’s mouth, as Damian dug the knife towards the sides, then let it clatter to the ground as he reached his bare hands _inside_ the man’s body. The man’s screaming had subsided to bloody gurgles, and Damian tugged, pulling his intestines free. He stretched them up, wrapped them around his neck tightly, all the while staring at the whites of his eyes, until those eyes went glossy, dead.

Damian’s heart was pounding in his chest, aware of the other eyes on him. Oh Harley’s eyes, of the Joker’s, burning points into his body. He picked the knife up in a blood caked hand and delved it inside, carving carefully until he pulled a solid, bloody mass from his chest.

His heart.

Damian shoved the knife into the man’s mouth and tugged it along his cheek, extending his mouth. He did it on both sides, then dropped the knife again and shoved the still organ into the newly widened cavity.

When it was done, his arms went limp at his sides, and he stared at the mess. He didn’t hear either Harley or the Joker move, but Harley was kneeling at his side, putting her arms around his shoulders, whispering to him that it was okay. Her eyes were wild, taking it in- a hint of fear, yes, but something else, a sort of love, of appreciation, of _pride_. Damian turned his head and just looked at those pretty blue eyes, until the Joker was crouching at his other side, covering Harley’s hand with his own.

“He’ll be an example,” he said, admiring Damian’s handiwork. “We’ll hang him where the Penguin can see. Where everyone can see. You’ve done the family good, babybat.”

_Family_. Damian thought of _the_ family for a moment, of Bruce and Dick and the birds in the black of night. But they were fuzzy, getting fuzzier by the day- faceless.

He looked at the Joker and smiled, because _this_ was family now, born of blood and death and the stench of power. He liked it.

Damian was a mess, and stripped his second ruined jacket of the night off, wiping his arms on it. He had blood on his jeans, his shirt, and he couldn’t get the stains off his skin, the red from his fingernails. Harley cooed that it was okay, they’d all need to clean up a bit.

They drove with the mutilated body in the trunk. The Joker never said where, and Damian, exhausted, fell into sleep in the back seat. He didn’t wake until they were hiding the car and the Joker was lifting Damian, carrying him home. He cradled him easily, and Damian let his head slip against his chest, feigned sleeping until they were inside and the Joker was setting him down on the couch.

Harley disappeared to wash up first, and the Joker knelt on the floor, stroking Damian’s hair.

“You did good tonight, babybat,” he assured, and Damian smiled. “That bird will think again before he messes with us.”

“But he will mess with us again,” Damian whispered, and the Joker averted his eyes for a moment. “He’s just like the Bat, like everyone. They always come back, J.” The Joker clicked his tongue, turned back to Damian, giving him a sick sort of smirk.

“Then perhaps we should make the, ah, Penguin go extinct.” His smirk turned to a grin, and Damian sat up.

“You might start a war,” he pointed out. He knew how the streets, the underworld, worked. The Penguin had a lot of friends- and by friends, people who paid him for protection, he liked his money and his luxury. His death might elate some, but it would piss off plenty of people who thought the Joker was going over their heads.

“War can be fun,” he said, “if you play your cards right. That bird has been a pain in my ass long enough.” He ran a finger along Damian’s jawline, studying the bone structure, the familiarity of it. “Why, I do think I want to kill the man now.”

“I want to help.” Damian twisted around, draped his legs over the couch cushions, so the Joker was kneeling between them. The Joker’s other hand reached up as he straightened, taller than Damian, tracing bone and muscle along his face. Damian felt his heart hammering in his chest, that tightening in his gut he’d get around the man- something he couldn’t quite name, because this was _family_ now, and you didn’t want to fuck your family, didn’t get aroused by their touch.

The Joker leaned a little closer, studying his dark eyes, ocean-black, the inky depths of the deep. His own green eyes were dancing, the pupils expanding, and Damian tried to lean closer, eyes dropping to his lips.

“I think I want you,” the Joker whispered, “to help me kill him, babybat. Just you, me, and Harley. A little _family outing_.”

Damian wasn’t listening. He was watching that mouth, wondering what those scars felt like. His pink tongue darted out, running along his own lips, and he heard the Joker’s breath hitch-

Just like that, he was standing, pulling away. He paced the room, leaving Damian feeling incredibly empty suddenly, wanting to call out to him to come back, to put those fingertips on his skin and feel every curve, ever jut of bone and clench of muscle.

But he was thinking then, Damian knew. Harley appeared, drying her hair from her quick shower, and raised an eyebrow, looking first at the Joker pacing, muttering to himself, and then Damian, sitting on the couch with a forlorn look. She walked over and sat down next to him, reaching up with rubbing behind his neck with one hand, working on a kink there. Damian relaxed instantly, and she smiled.

“Harley,” the Joker said, turning suddenly, “We’re going to do it.”

“Gonna do what Puddin’?” she asked, giving him a look that threatened if it was kinky, he ought to wait until Damian was out of the room to say it. Damian knew the look and giggled, reaching up to cover his mouth, stopping when he realized his hand was caked in dried blood still. The stale, metallic scent filtered up through his nose, and suddenly he wanted the Joker back between his legs even more, wanted to mingle his heated, sweet scent with the metal on his hands and lose himself in it.

Damian was almost terrified at himself, at these thoughts- because he was afraid the Joker would see him, and he was afraid of what he’d do. He didn’t want to lose this family he’d watch construct itself over the past five years.

“We’re going to kill the Penguin,” he said, grinning madly, and Harley leaned back, contemplating the idea herself, leaving Damian to his own contemplation. He leaned forward and pressed a bloody hand to his eyes, trying to chase away the idea of the Joker’s tongue cleaning the flaking blood of his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am destroying Damian chapter by chapter, and it is far too fun.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a much longer update that originally intended. I just couldn't stop.

Damian heard about the body on the news the next day. He was sitting cross legged on the couch with a bowl of cereal, as if he was a normal teenage boy, when the news flashed images of it, calling it a horrifying mutilation, and he settled the bowl into his lap, tilting his head. The Joker had strung the man up by his intestines, and they acted as a noose, since Damian had wound them so tightly around his neck. The blood had dried to a nasty black, and Damian was shocked they would actually show images on the news.

He lifted his bowl back up and took another bite, knowing he was far from normal.

The Joker insisted this be kept between the three of them. Even men who he had been employing for years, he didn’t want to risk. Money talked, he knew that, and the Penguin had plenty.

It was perfect timing. He was opening a new casino tower in Gotham- floors of entertainment, and rooms for rent to the exceptionally high bidders as well. All they had to do was get in.

The Joker got them three VIP passes. Damian didn’t ask how. He just went along with the day it took the primp for the event. The Joker had had only days to work out the details, and he hadn’t shared them yet- Damian hoped it had been enough time.

He was brushing Harley’s hair back, spraying it so it stayed that way, waves of pale gold. She looked pretty, Damian thought, but he thought that a lot. She was enjoying the attention, it was obvious, but she didn’t like the Joker’s taste in her attire for the evening.

“I don’t like the blue,” she said, staring at the dress that was draped over a kitchen chair, through the small doorway that connected the two rooms.

“You can’t wear black or red,” he said, stepping back so she could stand up. “Or green, or purple. You have to look different, Harley. You’re lucky I didn’t tell you to dye your hair.”

“I woulda told ya to stuff the dye up your asshole,” she said, waving him off and going to pick the dress up. He snickered a little, then turned to Damian, who was watching on the couch in sweat pants. For a moment, normal. Watching his parents getting ready for a night out in the city.

Except he was a part.

“Help him get dressed,” the Joker said, looking at the clock on the wall, “We’re running out of time. I have to go work on myself.” He turned and walked away, locking himself in the bathroom. Harley sighed and guided Damian to his room.

“I’m gonna slip this on,” she said, lifting the dress draped over her arm a bit, “you Get into your suit, I’ll be back in just a minute.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze and walked away, tapping her nails along the bathroom door teasingly, just to get a raise out of the Joker.

Damian stripped and got into the suit. Sleek, solid black. Black slacks, black shirt, black vest and jacket, even tie. It made him think he was going to a funeral.

The joke made his lips curl up in a smile.

He was tying his tie when Harley walked back in, pushing a few strands of blonde hair off her shoulders. The dress was gorgeous, an extreme hi-low cut held up by a strap around her slender neck. In a different color, Damian was sure she’d have loved it.

She bent down just slightly and buttoned his vest, straightened his tie as he tucked it in. “So handsome,” she said, “It’s easy to forget you’re a kid, Dami.”

“I’m not a kid,” he said, and she giggled.

“Sweetie, fifteen is a kid. Don’t let us forget that.” The look in her eyes was different then, sad almost. Damian wondered if she wanted to give him a childhood then, the freedom to be almost _normal_.

He didn’t want it.

She led him out and they waited in the hallway for the Joker. It took him another ten minutes before he emerged, in all black, just like Damian. He’d slicked his green hair back, making it look darker, neat. Green still yes, but in the right light, people might be fooled.

What was drastic about him was the amount of make-up and prosthetic he’d put on his cheeks. Damian couldn't see his scars at all. It made him rather sad.

The Joker motioned for him and Damian walked over. He guided him into the bathroom, slicked his short hair back, rinsed his hands off, then went about nit picking at his suit under the harsh white light. Damian let him because he liked to watch those white fingers move. He kept looking at his face, though, and wanting to tear the fake flesh away, get at his scars. It filled his face out a bit more, took away that exceptionally lean look that was somehow _sexy_ on him.

Damian was thankful when he was released. He came back into the hallway just to see Harley slipped a knife into the back of her dress. She must have strapped a sheath to her. She gave him a smile.

“I don’t get pockets like you,” she said, tossing him a folded switch blade. He caught it, slipped it in an inner pocket of his jacket, before walking over to the small table she was by and taking another, strapping it to his ankle. He couldn’t be bulky, so he knew he would have to travel light. He didn’t even know what he was doing, though. The Joker had kept it all a secret.

They left and walked two blocks away from the city in the shadows. A car was waiting, a limo, and Damian made a mental note to learn _all_ the Joker’s tricks someday. Including these little surprises.

Once in the back, and with the privacy screen up, the Joker laid out his plan. Penguin would make plenty of appearances, he knew that. But he’d he heavily guarded- they didn’t stand a chance at getting too close. They’d have to get him alone, in his private rooms. Harley needed to get a key card and any information she could from one of the guards. The Joker gave her a small handbag to keep these things in, including a cell phone, her make up. Nothing out of the ordinary. They could search her, but they wouldn’t find anything.

Damian had to be their eyes and ears. It wasn’t unheard of for rich kids to show up at these events- money making them above the law, he’d blend in perfectly. And while he was blending in and Harley was shamelessly flirting, the Joker was going to be _discretely_ relieving Penguin’s security of their duty.

It wasn’t much of a plan at all, but Damian didn’t mind. The Joker always seemed to make planless schemes _work_. When the pulled up and leaned over and kissed Harley’s cheek, making her giggle and throw her arms around his shoulders.

“Be careful H,” he said, and Harley tapped his nose.

“Don’tchu worry ‘bout me, Dami. I’m good and keeping men in the palm of my hand.” She winked. “You look after yourself. Don’t get into trouble.” He nodded, and Harley exited first, before the car did another loop around the block. Damian was left alone with the Joker, who was watching the city through the dark windows. Damian gnawed on his lower lip, watching him, suddenly far too aware of the exact space between them, the way he missed seeing those scars, the way the suit fit his lean body. He shifted a little closer, saw the Joker’s eyes look at him briefly, then look back outside, and took a breath, slipping so close their thighs brushed.

“You be careful too,” he whispered, and the Joker turned to look at him, offering him a smile. He wrapped an arm around Damian’s shoulders and squeezed.

“Don’t worry about me, babybat,” he said, leaning close, “I’ve gone blind into far scarier ideas.” He pressed his lips to Damian’s temple, and the boy shivered, unable to control it. He felt the Joker’s hand tighten on his shoulder, his breath exhale on his skin, and Damian turned, moving before the man could lean back, pressing his lips to whatever skin he could find. He managed his jawline, and wanted so badly to trace it with his tongue-

But the car was stopping and the Joker was gently guiding him away, his eyes a little shakey. He jerked his head and Damian only nodded, crawling out of the car, the Joker pulling the door shut behind him and going for one more round around the city.

He flashed his pass and got access without a second glance. Inside the floors were polished marble and crowded, strung with staff scurrying around with drinks and patrons. Damian grabbed a glass of champagne without anyone giving him a second glance and sipped it, walking through the crowd slowly. The first floor was mostly bars and sitting areas, a small stage where a woman in a gown with a neckline to her navel was singing softly. Damian cut through and found the elevator, joining the crowd as they got on. He rode up each floor, peaking out at what they were. Second floor was situated like a restaurant, and he didn’t bother, but he slipped off at the third floor, when he saw the whirling lights of machines and heard the _clinks_ of levers and the sounds of cards slapping together. He walked past a power table, and one of the players peered over his cards to give him the one over. Damian smirked, throwing a wink at him, and continuing on his way.

He had to remember what it was like to be a rich kid. He had to dig into his memory, the first set of memories, the brief time with Bruce, and try to remember how he was expected to act. Even now with the Joker having a decent handle on a lot of the underworld business in Gotham, it wasn’t the same. Besides, no matter how much money they tucked away, they stayed in their little hideout- and Damian liked it that way.

He finished off his champagne and set the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray. He was watching a table across the room, the way a slender blonde leaned against the table and whispered in a gentleman’s ear as he placed his bet. Damian knew Harley’s body language a mile away, let alone her dress, and dared to weave across the room, trying to listen.

“Should you really bet so high?” she asked, and the man grinned.

“Money just goes into the pockets of my friend if I lose,” he said, “None of these other players got anything good.”

“Friends with the house?” she asked, batting her eyelashes, and the reached out and pinched her chin.

“Definitely. I’ve...done business with Penguin on and off for years.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “Maybe after a few more rounds, you might wanna see some of his more...private rooms. He wouldn’t mind me usin’ them for a bit.” Harley just giggled, running her fingers along his arm, and Damian turned. She was as good as in.

His eyes scanned towards the bar towards the far corner, feeling a set of eyes on him. A man was holding a drink, watching him with dark eyes. Damian noted the suit he was wearing- the little casino’s logo sewed onto it over the breast, and gave the man a cute smile. He sauntered over, leaning against the bar and continuing the smile.

“Hi,” Damian said, and the man let his empty glass clink on the bar.

“Hi,” he said back, eyes roving over Damian. He felt his stomach try to flip, and not in the good way, but Damian kept his composure. “All alone tonight? Mommy and daddy wondering around somewhere?”

“I don’t need anyone to hold my leash.” The guy chuckled.

“How old are you, kid?”

“How old do you want me to be?” The guy grinned, and Damian cocked his head, showing off the expanse of his neck. “I’m good at being whatever someone wants me to be.” The man reached out, stroked Damian’s cheek, and his skin crawled. He fought down the gag, didn’t want this stranger’s hands on him, but told himself he could make J proud. And all he wanted to do was please him.

“Interested in some fun tonight?” He signaled to the bar tender, who brought him another drink- a rich amber liquid in a glass. Scotch, Damian guessed. He remembered Bruce drinking it a few times. _He hated it_. “You could be anyone, so long as you listen and keep it our little secret.”

“I love secrets,” Damian said with a smirk, and the man downed his drink in one gulp and took his hand. He lead him through the room, and Damian ahd enough time to look back at the table where he’d seen Harley. She, and her new _friend_ were pleasantly absent.

The man took a card from an inner pocket in his jacket and slid it through a reader by the elevators. A private one opened, and the two slipped inside, riding up towards the top floors. Damian watched where he slipped the card back in his pocket, then slipped his hands into his pockets. He had one, very small knife, and he played his finger tips over it. He’d have to be careful- he couldn’t risk being seen. He had to figure out where the security cameras were.

They got off the elevator and the man lead him down a hallway with a rich red carpet and golden walls. Beyond extravagant, it looked _royal_. Damian wanted to laugh at the Penguin for thinking he had to make himself seem like royalty now.

The man stopped by a door with an Emperor Penguin carved into it, slid his card again, and then punched a code in. Damian pretended to be entranced by the carving- which was, he could admit, very well done- but in reality he was memorizing the six digits. When the door opened the man ushered him in.

He barely got to take in the spacious, low-lit welcoming room, as he was steered to the left and into another hallway. A door was open and the man nudged Damian inside. The first thing Damian noticed as it was warmer in here, noticeably so-

The second were the two other kids in the room. One girl, maybe a year younger than him, with pale blonde hair and in a pretty white dress, lounging on a couch, and another boy, a few years older, maybe two, sipping at a glass of dark wine. The man patted Damian on the shoulder.

“You smile like you did for me, and he’ll decide on you for sure, doll.”

Damian was confused for a minute, but the man was walking away before he could say anything, leaving him alone. The girl looked at him, then scoffed, fingers playing with the silk of her dress. The other boy with the wine sat down, giving Damian a small nod.

“Drink while you wait?” he asked, and Damian nodded and the guy poured him a glass of wine. “Won’t be too long, don’t worry. Openings like this get his blood pumpin’, he’ll want some company.”

_Who_ Damian wanted to ask. He sipped at the wine, a heavy, strong one. He thought the guy had picked him up for himself, he had planned to knock him out or slit his throat and get his card, use his code, and find a good hiding place. Or better yet, call J, and get him up here. Get a hold of Harley and let her know she just had to keep the masses at bay. But now-

The door to the chambers opened, he could hear it, and the other two froze up for a second, before arranging themselves. The girl was draped over the couch, the guy got up and leaned against a bookshelf, idly reading a few titles as he swirled his wine in his cup. Damian stayed sitting, taking a big drink just as a flock of men walked in, parting to allow the Penguin to slip between them.

Damian nearly choked on the wine.

“They’re all pretty, sir,” one man said, and the Penguin gave them all a quick look. He stopped on the girl, stroked his silk vest, then shook his head.

“No girls tonight,” was all he had to say, and one of the guards was grabbing her by the arm, escorting her out, saying something about how if she was still up for some fun, he could find some for her _easily_. Damian took another sip of wine, saw the Penguin look at him, long and hard, before he turned to the other boy, then shook his head. A man walked over to Damian and helped him up as the Penguin turned to go, took his wine glass. Damian didn’t fight, but his stomach was beginning to feel heavy.

He was led into a large bedroom, warm like the last one, with a large round bed in the center, canopied in white. Damian wanted to laugh, it made him think of an igloo, but he kept it inside. They left him, standing in on the polished floor, so reflective it made him feel like he was walking on water, to wait. Damian fidgeted, stuffed his hands in his pocket, considered poking around, when the door opened again and the Penguin walked in, alone this time. He looked at Damian, smiled an ugly smile and unbuttoned his jacket.

“Need a drink, boy?” he asked, and Damian forced a nod. The Penguin walked around the room, slipping behind a bar and picking up a bottle. He poured an amber liquid into two glasses over ice, then carried them over, handing one to Damian. His bare fingers brushed Damian’s and he hated his skin. Damian whispered a thank you and waited until the Penguin drank to take a sip. The scotch ran down his throat and his stomach flipped.

“You don’t look like you’ve done this a lot,” the Penguin noted, walking away, towards the bed. At the last moment he chose a large, plush chair near by instead, leaning back. “I like that. Virgin meat is always the sweetest.”

Damian took a deep breath, then walked towards him, forcing a sway to his hips. He threw his head back and finished his drink, let the Penguin watch his throat work, then looked at him with those nearly black eyes.

“I promise I’m sweet,” he said, slipping to his knees, his heart hammering in his chest. The Penguin was looking at him with those beady little eyes, and Damian realized he was in over his head. He didn’t think he could pull his knife with more than three seconds to spare. He was sure there was security watching. He was sure the Penguin had tricks up his sleeve.

His only hope was to distract him, was to get him so far gone he could slip a knife into him before anyone had time to blink. In order to do that-

Damian didn’t want to think about what he’d have to do.

For a moment, he wished someone would save him. He hadn’t needed anyone to save him in five years- not since the Joker saved him from death and brought him back to life. He didn’t think he’d ever need someone to save him again-

But Damian realized he was wrong. He was so, _so_ wrong.

“I bet you are,” the Penguin said, leaning back. “I could tell. That girl was a pretty little thing, but she was trying too hard. And the other boy- he was too old. My men should know me better.”

“You like us young?” The Penguin chuckled.

“ _Young and fresh_.” Damian’s mouth went dry. “Do I need to tell you what to do?”

“No,” Damian whispered, slipping between the man’s large thighs. He reached up and ran his hands along those meaty legs, gripped them gently, and dipped forward, grabbing the man’s zipper with his teeth. The Penguin reached down and dug a hand into his slicked back hair, tugging on it as Damian opened his pants, held his breath-

There was a sudden _thump_ , and before Damian could move, the bedroom door was kicked open. The Joker seemed to fill the doorframe, despite his lean body, and his eyes were glaring forward, wild. The Penguin stared at him, cracking a large grin.

“Joker!” he said, raising his chin, “I didn’t expect to see you here. Don’t remember extending an invitation to you. Aw well, come, have a drink.” His grin widened. “You look well, I like what you've done with your face. Those scars were always hideous, nice to see you hide them for once. Want some fun? I can get you one like this.” He gestured to Damian, who was looking at the Joker, wide eyed, shaking.

“Give me the boy,” Joker said, and the Penguin raised an eyebrow.

“Never known you to be picky...or indulge with me,” he said with a snort, “I can find you one better-“

“The. Boy. Now.” The Penguin looked at Damian, studied his face, before his eyes widened and he broke out into laughter.

“Oh. _Oh_. This is the brat you took in, that Robin you owed me so much for.” He reached down, pulled Damian’s face up. “Shame, he’s a pretty one. And I was so close to having that little mouth on my cock.” He shoved Damian back, and he landed on his butt, sprawled out. “How much would it cost for you to share him for a few hours.”

The Joker gritted, his teeth, reaching into his jacket. He pulled a knife out, and the Penguin only laughed. “Do you really think you’ll get anywhere with _that_.”

“Your security is dead,” he said, “I, ah, made sure of it.” The large man shrugged a shoulder.

“No matter. I can buy more. So, let’s talk business. Ten grand for a night with this kid- _if_ you haven’t fucked him yet. Five if you have- but oh, you have to watch.” He chuckled, and the Joker lunged, growling low and primal. He landed on the Penguin who threw his weight into him and they tumbled off the chair, onto the floor. Damian scurried back, watching, sweating under his suit. The Penguin knocked the knife from the Joker’s hand, throwing him away so he crashed into one of the bedposts. He staggered up, reaching for his chair, underneath, and pulling free a concealed gun.

“You’re in over your head, freak,” he said, “I’m retracting my offer. I’ll fuck your brat for free, over your damn corpse.” He aimed, and Damian came to his senses, throwing himself at him as the Joker threw himself flat against the ground. Damian smacked into the Penguin’s meaty legs, jarring his arm, and his hand jerked to the side, his spray of bullets missing the Joker entirely. He cursed, turning to Damian, glaring. “Stupid boy,” he said, kicking him, foot connecting with his jaw and jerking his head back painfully. Damian fell back on the floor, and the Joker was looming towards Penguin. He grabbed his free arm, punching him in the jaw, then holding him steady as he pounded his fist into his gut over and over again.

The Penguin gasped for breath, waving his gun, firing randomly. Damian pushed his torso up, blood dripping from his chin. He glared with eyes black as coal, standing up and charging, slamming his shoulder into his gut. He turned sharply, grabbing the Penguin’s arm, digging in with bruising for and jerking it to the side, breaking bone. The gun clattered to the floor and the man cried out. Damian reached for it, grabbed it and turned, aiming it at him. The Joker stopped beating his fist into the man’s belly, took a step back as the Penguin stared at Damian with a little smile.

“You could shoot me,” he said, “or you could shoot the freak next to you. I could give you something better than this, kid. I own this city.”

Damian stared at him, before his lips quirked up in a smirk. The Penguin grinned, and Damian lowered the gun.

“Let me tell you, Penguin,” Damian said, “that freak _is_ this city.” He took the two steps to the Joker, passed the gun into his hand as the Penguin’s smiled faltered.

“Joker wait,” he stammered, “Let’s talk this over, man to man, just you and I-“

“Fill him full of lead,” Damian said, as the Joker wrapped an arm around him and he leaned in close, breath ghosting over the taller man’s neck and ear. “Please, daddy.”

The Joker grinned, lifting the gun. Penguin started to babble something, but the Joker couldn’t care less what spewed from his mouth. He pulled back the trigger, filling his chest and gut full of bullets. When the gun was empty, the Joker dropped it as Penguin slumped forward onto his knees, swayed, and fell to the side, his blood pooling quickly on the polished floor. The Joker turned, holding Damian against him, hands fisting in his jacket.

“I could kill you,” he muttered, “what were you thinking?”

“I didn’t know I was meant for _him_ ,” he said, looking up, “I thought...one of his security guards. I was gonna swipe his card, knock him out or slit his throat. But...how did you find me?”

“I was down in the basement,” the Joker said, leaning back and stroking Damian’s cheek. “I saw you on the security cameras. I may not have been as, ah, _subtle_ as I wanted to be, getting here.” His eyes drifted to Damian’s mouth, to the trickle of blood on his chin. “Are you hurt? Did he-“

“I’m fine,” Damian said with a shrug. “Split lip, no big deal. I’m not a baby.”

“...You’re my babybat,” the Joker murmured, leaning down. Damian felt his breath, then his tongue, licking his chin clean, flicking against the corner of his mouth. It traced the beginning of the curve of his lower lip, and Damian’s clutched at his shirt with one hand, the other grasping his hip, pushing down, over his thigh, trailing up it tentatively. The Joker pulled back, but Damian pushed forward, lost inside his head, in all this. He was dizzy, he could smell the Penguin’s blood, and it was making him feel _hot_ , like he was melting under his skin. The Joker smelled sweet, on top of that, and that tightness was back in his belly, coiling and making him want something, _anything_.

But the Joker was pulling back, grasping his wondering hand, leading him away. Damian followed without speaking, understanding in the rational part of his mind that they needed to get, and now. They ran, and Damian noted the Joker hadn’t lied when he saw the security was dead. Bullet holes and slit throats, quick, artless work. He had been _frantic_.

The Joker pulled a security card from his jacket, swiped it, and they got on the elevator. He pulled a phone from his pocket, hit one of the two contacts on there, and it ran for a moment. Damian heard Harley answer, and the Joker was gruff, short.

“We’re done. Get outside _now_.” She didn’t respond, but Damian knew she’d be asking later. He’d get hell from both of them for being reckless-

But what was new?

The Joker straightened his jacket, smoothed out Damian’s as the elevator dinged on the ground floor. They slipped out and made for the doors, slipping out into the cool open air. The Joker steered them up the street, walking away from the casino. Damian didn’t question, he just followed, until they were up the block. They stood in silence then, waiting, and Damian shifting his weight from foot to foot. Harley appeared, walking towards them, within a minute, and when she reached them the Joker took her arm and guided her as they walked. Her heels clicked on the pavement, and despite the loud noises of the city nightlife, it was all Damian could hear. The _click click click_ of her heels, like his mind trying to restart, trying to function.

“Reckless,” Harley said, standing in the bathroom doorway as Damian undid his tie and tossed it on top of his jack et and vest, sitting on a heap on the toilet seat. “Ya coulda been _killed_ Dami. Or...or...”

“Raped mercilessly?” He worked on the buttons of his shirt, avoiding her gaze. “I know. I didn’t know I was going to be for Pen-“

“Then ya shouldn’t have taken the chance!” She reached up, pinched the bridge of her nose. “Dami, baby, you’re still _young_. Mr. J and I don’t expect you to...”

“What?” Damian snapped his head up, his shirt open. “Expect me to what? Be useful? Be able to hold my own? I’m not a _baby_ , Harley. I fucking _died_. I’ve seen the shit you and J do. I’ve done it _with_ you. So don’t get sentimental on me. Don’t try to treat me like a normal kid, when you know that’s something I’ll never be.”

Harley frowned, turning and storming out, as Damian ripped his shirt off, tossing it onto the floor.

He took a scolding hot shower, pressing his head to the oddly white tiles, squeezing his eyes shut, angry. At himself. At her. At him. At everything.

On the other side of the wall, he could hear them. The sound of clothing being tossed to the floor, of Harley’s breath. He _knew_ what they were doing, he always knew, even when they used to try to hide it. All he could do now was grit his teeth, beat a fist into the wall as he heard Harley give a little cry. He could see the Joker behind his eyelids, between her thighs, face pressed into her folds, making her writhe. He was good at it-

Damian had walked by and seen, more than once. They hadn’t tried to hide sex since he was young- and that was only Harley that thought they should try to be _normal_ , and it hadn’t lasted long. It was just part of life.

It wasn’t loving. He’d stayed at the cracked door long enough to see the way Harley’s blue eyes stared through him, through that green gaze. There was someone else in her head, he was sure. He wasn’t entirely sure who yet- but he had an idea. Not that the Joker seemed to mind, thought Damian was sure he knew too. Hell, maybe he encouraged it. Damian couldn’t tell.

All he knew was he felt like a child, and he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be Harley’s baby, the Joker’s little brat. He wanted to be _something_ , to have purpose. He wanted to be man enough to have grabbed the Joker and kissed him with the blood hot in his veins and thick in the air. He wanted to be man enough that the Joker would have passed over his bedroom and taken up Harley’s spot in the doorway, watched him strip. He just _wanted_.

He went to bed with wet skin and an ache in his belly that tore him to pieces. He knew the Joker ghosted by his room after he’d been laying there about forty five minutes. He stood in the doorway like a shadow of the city, and Damian prayed he wouldn’t come in. He was unhinged, he would do something he regretted-

He wanted the man, but he couldn’t _lose_ him. He needed him. He was the only father Damian would ever have again.

The news of Penguin’s death spread like fire. The Joker had called it right, there were mod uprisings. He, for the most part, stayed out of it though, and let them fight amongst themselves. He took care of business, of the men under his protection, and that was it.

A bloody week passed, and Damian was in his bedroom, nose deep in a book, when Harley peeked in to check on him. He didn’t look up from the page, just spoke knowing it was her by her perfume and the sounds of her footsteps.

“I want a tattoo.” She leaned against the doorway, arms folded.

“Oh?” She didn’t protest, and Damian still didn’t look up.

“Yeah. You must know a guy somewhere? I want some air, I could go for it tonight.”

“You’re fifteen,” she said with a laugh. Damian stopped, peered up over his book.

“How many fifteen-year-olds gut men and strangle them with their own intestines?” Harley was quiet. She drummed her fingers on her arm, then sighed.

“Tonight,” she said, and was gone, and Damian was left smiling.

It was just the two of them. Harley made a few calls, and took him out while the Joker went to handle some business. She drove them down into the heart of Gotham, into a little shop that smelled of strong incense and ink. The guy that greeted them threw his arms around her, and for a moment Damian wondered if he was it, the one behind her eyes.

“So this is the brave little guy?” the man said, looking at Damian, “Harl tells me you want some ink. For her, I think I can break a few age laws.” He smiled, a nice smile, and Damian smiled back, before the little bell on the door tinkled and someone else walked in. He turned, saw a flash of red waves and a set of even redder lips.

“Am I late?” The woman asked, pulling her hair free of her jacket. Harley grinned and rushed over, throwing her arms around her.

“Red! Just on time.” She kissed her cheek, turned and gestured to Damian. “You remember Damian. I know it’s been a while.” Damian looked her over, realized exactly who he was staring at.

_Poison Ivy_.

“I remember,” Damian said. She’d left Gotham, he remembered. For a while. Harley never told him why, but she’d been sad. Very sad.

“You grew,” she commented, eyeing him. “You’re gonna be a man the next time Harley blinks. I’ll have to hear her cry about it.”

“Damn right!” Harley said, wrapping her arms around one of Ivy’s and gazing up at her. And in that instant, Damian knew _exactly_ who was behind Harley’s eyes when she crashed and tangled her body with the Joker’s.

Ivy had come baring ink for Damian- a deep green, almost black, organic from her plants. She commented on how she normally wouldn’t have dreamed of hurting them for someone, but Harley had asked, and she couldn’t refuse. She looked at the blonde playfully, and Damian more than half expected he’d get dropped back off at home and the two would disappear for a while.

He really wondered why she ever left Gotham.

The ink had a different smell to it, but Damian liked it. It melted against his golden skin as the needle drove it in, crafting three small diamonds onto the back of his left shoulder. A mark, a brand. A reminder that this was _family_.

After all he’d been through the past five years, he felt he’d earned it.

He was right about Harley leaving him alone in the hideout. She told him she’d be back later, and disappeared arm in arm with Ivy, eyes the true blue of a lovesick girl. Damian could only smile.

He waited up for the Joker. It was after three AM when he finally came home, and Damian was exhausted, flopped down on the couch in his boxer briefs and a t-shirt, laying on his stomach so as to not agitate the tattoo. He had the lights off, and was sitting in the glow of the television. The Joker walked in, pulling his tie off and dropping it on a small end table, watching him.

“Where’s Harley?”

“Out. With a friend.” The Joker raised an eyebrow, and Damian smiled. “Ivy.”

“She’s back in Gotham?”

“Guess so. I saw her with me own eyes.” The Joker walked closer, reached down and dragged his finger tips along one of Damian’s calves, then his thigh, going dangerously high.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“I wanted to wait for you.” The Joker’s fingertips touched the fabric of his underwear and he stopped, pulled his hand back. Damian sat up, and before the man could speak, pulled his shirt off, turning so his shoulder was angled back towards him. “What do you think?” The Joker tilted his head, then slipped down to his knees, fingers pressing into Damian’s back and towards his shoulder, but not close enough to the tattoo to hurt. “It’s for you,” he said, “and Harley. For _us_. No one can question that we’re family.”

The Joker didn’t speak, just traced it with his eyes. Damian felt the man’s fingers twitching, like they wanted to touch it, trace it- but he knew better. He leaned closer, and Damian felt his lips against the back of his neck- soft despite the scars, and his lids grew heavy. His lips were replaced by his forehead, as the Joker knelt there in silence, in all of Damian’s young glory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I nearly made myself sick writing parts of this. I'm tacking on a warning just to be safe thanks to this chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

Damian stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. He reached one hand up, pawing at his short, black hair, his other hand gripping onto the porcelain sink. Beyond the room, he could hear Harley, laughing in the kitchen. Ivy was there. She appear more often than not, but it was a welcome intrusion. Damian liked her.

She’d tried to make it _normal_ , the first time she stayed the night, when they had begun working on making their _home_ less cramped, turning the abandoned level above them into livable space. Harley had demanded it, the Joker complied because an argument would be pointless. Harley would win. They had set up a large bedroom, and Damian had been upstairs looking at the work being done, when Ivy walked up and peeked into the room.

“I’d tell you to call me auntie Pam,” she said with a laugh, a real laugh, “But you’re too smart for that.”

And Damian had smiled because he was. He’d seen it behind those pretty green eyes of hers, the way she looked at Harley, the way Harley looked back. He didn’t begrudge her- in fact, the more Ivy appeared in his little home, the more fond of her he grew.

He sighed, turned away from his reflection, and grabbed his black v-neck, walking shirtless from the bathroom. He slipped into the kitchen, saw a counter littered with egg shells, Harley with her hair in a messy knot against her neck, and the sly movement of Ivy’s hand along the small of her back.

“Smells good,” he said, folding his arms, and Harley looked back and smiled at him.

“Sit down,” she said, waving her spatula, “Have some midnight breakfast with us!”

“Sorry H,” he said, straightening up. “Got work to do.” He pulled the shirt over his chest, the thick yet lean muscle he’d accumulated over the years. And nineteen, he was bigger than he had been years ago, with a new array of pale scars settling against his golden skin.

“Have someone else do it,” Harley whined as Ivy sat down, taking a sip from a champagne glass, half filled with orange juice, the other with something expensive and bubbly. “You’re never home, Dami. I miss you.”

“I’ll make time another night,” he said, walking over and kissing her cheek. “I promise. And this won’t take long, just a stop off at the docks. Shipment coming in, I want to make sure it gets to the right dealers. Last time I gave that to someone else it was a disaster.” Harley said, returning the kiss to his cheek. This close, he could see the faintest of lines in her face. Sometimes, he forgot that she aged, that J aged. Time was graceful on her, though, the lines faint, rather becoming. Her smile still dazzled and her eyes still danced- so long as that happened, Damian knew he’d find her beautiful. “Where’s J?”

“Had something to take care of,” she said, “Didn’t say when he’d get back. Don’t have too much fun without me, Dami.”

“I won’t. If I need anyone’s face bashed in, I’ll call. Promise.” She giggled and patted his shoulder, turning back to the eggs. Ivy gave Damian a smile and a nod, and he gave her a quiet, “Pam” and a nod back.

Yes, she was definitely welcome, if she gave so much life to Harley’s eyes.

Damian mounted his bike and made his way to the docks. The window felt good, rushing through his hair, against his cheeks, blowing the leather jacket he’d thrown on. Black on black and jeans, he was ignoring the family colors, but he smirked in silent laughter that his boxer briefs were dark green. That was something.

He got to the docks and parked his bike, leaving it in the shadows and making his way around the old shipping containers. He was pleased to see a few of his men already unloading crates. They stopped to greet him, and he gave them a grin, placing his hands on his hips. Just watching. That’s all he really needed to do. Easy night.

“It’s all there, I swear!”

Or not.

Damian jerked his head towards the voice, at the man who had been holding the case full of money. It was in the hands of man who delivered ths shipment- behind on the times, sadly. Damian would have rather just transferred the money to him, but he liked cold hard cash. Still, the shit he managed to get, it was Scarecrow hallucinogen worthy, without dealing with Crane. So Damian dealt.

“What’s the problem?” he asked, walking over and placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. The guy relaxed- Damian did that, he had a little trust from the men who usually worked under him. He liked that- he still had nightmares about seeing men turn their guns on the Joker, and he never wanted to encounter _that_ again. He wanted loyalty, respect, commitment. Though he wasn’t innocent of slitting his own men’s throats if they fucked up _royally_. Fear was important too.

“Maniac is claiming we’re short,” he said, “It’s all there boss, I swear. Ya can check me, I didn’t skim.”

Damian slipped an arm around him, acting friendly. “Oh, I wouldn’t think that you did.” But to be safe, that squeeze had let him know there were no bundles of cash hidden on his person. He doubted he would have taken the time to dispserse bills all over his body, nor did he think he had had the time to hide any. Also, he _did_ have some trust for this man. When Damian didn’t handle the cash himself, he was comfortable leaving it to him.

So he turned the man, in his nice suit but wild gray hair and nervous tick of his lips. Probably sampled his own drugs one too many times. Shame, that was a rule you didn’t break.

“It’s all there,” Damian said, one hand slipping along his hip. The feel of cool metal from the ride over, his gun was ready. Along with the knife next to it. Always have a back up. “We can sit and count it, if you like, while my men do their work.”

The man opened the briefcase in a quick flash, showing off the dent were a large bundle had been removed. “I bet to differ, boy. It ain’t all here. I want the rest of my money.”

Damian clicked his tongue. He studied the man’s hands for a moment, before striking out. He clamped the briefcase shut with a fist before it tumbled to the ground, grabbed the man by the collar of his crisp cotton shirt and hoisted him up. The man flailed, reaching to grab Damian’s wrist, and Damian’s other hand grabbed his sleeve, tugging it up to his elbow. The missing bundle dropped to the ground, followed quickly by his body.

Damian stared down with hard, black eyes. “Next time you try to cheat me,” he said, delivering a swift kick to the man’s ribs and knocking the wind out of him, “I’ll gut you before you can blink. You know I have an affinity for hanging _bad men_ by their internal organs.” He grinned, a dark, sinister sort of smile, and the man made a groveling noise, words Damian couldn’t understand. “Now get the hell out.” He jerked his head, and the man got up, grabbed the briefcase, and was off, leaving the stolen bundle of cash forgotten. Damian stooped to pick it up, peeling a few crisp bills off the pile and walking over to his men.

“Good job,” he said, patting the one who had been handling the cash on his chest and slipping the bills into his jacket pocket. “For being trustworthy. Make sure these guys get this stuff to the _right_ dealers. And count the payment when you take it- this guy has put a sour taste in my mouth. Let’s not let anyone else try and cheat us.”

“You got it, sir,” he said, reaching up and squeezing Damian’s hand. He had a few years on Damian, sandy blonde hair- short. Not bad. Damian made a mental note, turning to let them finish their work. He didn’t think the guy would mind. Most people wouldn’t mind getting a taste of him. He knew that, and he _used it_.

He left them to finish up, made his way through the dark back towards his bike. He’d be home plenty early- he was hoping H still had some food warm, he was pretty hungry. Maybe Pammy would still be up, she was always fun to talk to. He’d been keeping so busy lately, he hadn’t had a night with one of them in quite some time. He wondered when J would be home, what he was doing. He should call him, let him know what happened. But if he was in the middle of _handling_ a problem, he wouldn’t want to be disturbed-

Damian stopped, turning his head just a little, listening to the wind over the bay, creeping into the city. A moment later he heard it again, that ruffle of wind on fabric, and he _knew_. He smirked, but it was entirely fake. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said, turning around. The shadows moved, and he saw the cape first, the way the wind blew it gently. A moment later Batman stepped out, staring at Damian with those blue-black eyes he’d inherited. “I was actually starting to think you’d just leave me alone.”

“Damian-“

“Then again, I am fucking up your precious Gotham, so I guess you _can’t_.” He rested his hands on his hips, not touching the hilt of his knife or the handle of his gun, but close enough that their comfort was there. “So what’re you waiting for? Come at me, _Bats_. I can handle you.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, his hands flexed into fists, then relaxed. The inflection in Damian’s voice, it mirrored another he knew, one Damian knew, and this time Damian’s smirk was real. “Hear him in me?”

“See him in you,” Batman admitted. Damian laughed at that. He wished he could see the Joker in himself- in many different ways, _in many different positions_. “It’s not too late, Damian.”

“You say this shit every year.” He took a step closer. “Do you always think that, Bruce, or just when you don’t run into me slitting throats and stringing people up by their guts? It’s fun, you know.” He drew his knife, pressing the blade tip into his finger and twirling it. “Gutting them. Splitting them open. The heat is _amazing_. It’s...art. The countless ways you can rearrange a human body and we all still know it was _once_ human.” His tongue darted out, licked his lips, and Bruce cringed. Damian’s heart sped up. “So, tell me Bruce. Knowing that, still think there’s hope for me?”

“Come with me,” he said, reaching his hand out. Not the first time he’d done it. “Let me _try_ , Damian. We have so much to talk about.”

“You’ve had years to try and talk, Bruce.”

“You never listen. Don’t act a child, Damian. I didn’t watch a child working back there.” Damian gritted his teeth. “Give me a chance to earn my son back.”

“I’m not your son!” he cried. “Your son _died_. The Damian you know is dead, has been dead for nine years. You’re not my family- none of your damn broken family is mine.” He held the knife out, keeping Bruce at a distance. “H and J are my family- they’re all I’ve got-“

“You have me-“

“Bullshit!” he screamed, lunging. Batman dodged his frustration-fueled attack with ease, and Damian skidded to a stop, turning. “Where were you when I was six feet under? Why the hell didn’t _you_ bring me back?”

“I was mourning the loss of my son!” Bruce’s voice echoed around them, virulent. Damian lowered his knife slowly, before his arm went limp. “I was mourning the death of another Robin, of a member of my family- but most of all, I was mourning you, Damian. _You_ , my son. A boy I never got to love.”

Damian swallowed the lump in his throat, his chest going tight. He was hard to breath, the corners of his vision were swimming. Bruce’s eye burned holes right through him, and his knife clattered to the ground.

“When I was...dead,” he started, “I dreamed of you. I think. It’s all...hazy. That time, the time before. Everything before I woke up and he held me.” Bruce’s eyes flashed- a light in the dark, a mix of anger and frustration and jealousy and Damian wasn’t sure what he was jealous of. “But I remember you. And I was screaming for you until my lips and throat were bloody, but you _never_ came.”

Bruce took a step towards him, and Damian let him. He tried to not think about those dreams, the things he saw behind dead eyes. For a whil he couldn’t remember them, but over the years they came back. He still had nightmares, from time to time. But he hadn’t woken up with the Joker in his room, holding him, in years. In this moment he wanted those arms around him, to ground him. For a moment the docks, the bay, turned to black earth, and he was buried again, feeling frantic-

Bruce grabbed his arm and pulled him closer. Damian fell into it, stumbled into his embrace, let the man who had helped create him wrap his arms around him and hold him tightly. Damian went limp, didn’t move, breathed in the scent of Kevlar and the wind, remembered it in his mind. His fingers twitched, then he reached out, tentatively wrapping his arms around Bruce, clutching at his cape.

“I can help you through those memories,” Bruce was offering, “God, I’ve wanted to help for so long. But he kept you so close, on such a tight leash, and the city...and the family...”

Damian didn’t say anything. He knew about the family falling apart. Tim and Barbara gone, left Gotham without looking back, doing their form of _good and justice_ elsewhere. Jason had disappeared into the dark, Damian didn’t even know where he was. When Damian had heard of Alfred’s passing, he actually felt remorse. Had locked himself up for a few days and only come out when the Joke and comforted him, held him as he shook and screamed and _didn’t understand_ why it hurt so much more than it should have.

He squeezed his eyes shut, couldn’t think about the Joker then. But what Bruce had said was true, the Joker had kept Damian close for so long, Bruce had barely managed to get a moment alone with him. Damian had run into Dick- _Nightwing_ alone more often. And with the way Gotham was crumbling, Bruce had a _job_ to try and fix it, to stop the chaos. Damian could remember the chaos after the Penguin’s death, the city had been in an uproar for almost a year as the mobs and gangs warred off. It had meant a very busy Bat, so busy that Damian managed to get away with his work with barely _ever_ seeing him.

“Give me a chance,” Bruce whispered, cutting into his thoughts, “Just come talk with me. You can leave whenever you want to.”

Part of Damian’s brain ticked and told him no, no this was bad. Don’t do it, it was a trap, this was the Bat, _the Bat the Bat the Bat_ , and only the Joker could stand up to him alone. Damian wasn’t ready yet, wasn’t there. But the arms around him, they were in the deep recesses of his memory, familiar in a strange, foreign way, and he _wanted_ to remember.

“Promise,” Damian said, “I I want out, you let me walk.”

“I swear it.”

Damian took a deep breath, then nodded slowly, his heart pounding so wildly in his chest he could hear the blood rushing inside his skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, we're missing so many years again! The age jump is just necessary to see some events play out. I do intend to write about these missing years someday down the line, in short stories.


	6. Chapter 6

It was odd to sit inside the Batmobile, after nine years of absence. He closed his eyes and tried to remember patrols with Bruce, but they were buried so far down it was hard. He wasn’t sure what was a memory, and what he was creating. He didn’t know _how_ to create something, fabricate a memory so that it might be accurate. Life before death was still blurry, always wood be. Damian had accepted that-

But the promise of Bruce reminding him, it brought back his curiosity. He knew who was who, he remembered some things in clarity- but mundane things like sitting in the Batmobile, getting ready for patrol, was just a haze.

When Bruce pulled the car into the Batcave and killed the engine, Damian didn’t move. It seemed different, through the tinted windows. So different. He waited until Bruce got out to follow, and he was right- it was different.

It lacked _life_. The cave had never been lively except for the countless screens, but there used to be Alfred poking around, bringing in late night dinners and snacks before you even knew you were hungry, one of the family showing up and taking up space, chatting about this and that and _nothing_ but breathing in the space and giving it life. Now it was just...empty. Sad.

Bruce pulled his cowl back, and Damian watched as he ran a hand through his hair. He was aging too- it struck Damian that he looked _older_. His once near-black hair had grey finely peppered into it- thing streaks that reminded Damian the man was mortal, aged just like Harley, just like the Joker-

Bruce more so than the two of them put together, though.

His eyes even looked tired, as he looked at Damian, a faint smile on his lips.

“What do you remember?” he asked, leaning against the counter, and Damian tried to keep busy, running fingers along counters, touching the gadgets he found lying there.

“Bits and pieces,” he said, “I remember people, faces, general events. But little things...like riding in the Batmobile, I didn’t remember what that felt like. The smell of the cave’s air- I’d forgotten until now.” He shrugged a shoulder.

“Do you remember everything _he_ did?” Damian froze, looked at Bruce out of the corner of his eyes.

“Let’s not talk about him,” he said, knowing Bruce meant the Joker. “Leave J out of this. But yes, I remember. I know what he’s done to the city.”

“You remember what he did to _Jason_?” Damian gripped the corner of the counter he was by, gritting his teeth. _It always comes back to this_.

“Yes, _Bruce_ , I remember. You made sure to not let us ever forget.” Damian looked over at him, eyes hardening. “But let’s not focus on Jaybird for a minute- if you can, I know how _infatuated_ with him you are. Let’s focus on me- let’s think about what J did for _me_.”

“He corrupted-“

“He gave me **life!” Damian pulled his hand back, made a fist, slammed it into the counter. “He did what you didn’t think to do- probably couldn’t do. But what you _should_ have. You could have given me a second chance- _he_ did that instead.”**

**“Lazarus Pits are unstable, Damian,” he said, “They cause temporary insanity- maybe even permanent. Jason was never the-“**

**“And here we go with Jason again!” Damian swiped the few items on the counter onto the ground. “You’ve got a real infatuation with the guy, Bruce. Did he return it, hmm? Did you ever bend little Jason _over_?” Bruce stood up at that, glaring bitterly into Damian.**

**“Damian Wayne, don’t-“**

**“I’m not a Wayne,” Damian said, “Not anymore. Dammit Bruce, you did, didn’t you? Did Dick know? You know he’s got it bad for you, right? And Jason too, in a sort of liking broken things way.” Damian shook his head. “Did you just take all of them? Even Tim? God, would you have-“**

**“Enough!” Bruce closed the gap between them, reaching for the collar of Damina’s shirt. He tugged on it, gritting his teeth. “Don’t think such filth, Damian. I loved them, Damian, like I love you.” Damian reached up, closing a hand around Bruce’s wrist.**

**“Let. Me. Go.” Bruce released his hold, and Damian jerked back. “This was a mistake. We can’t talk about anything, Bruce. Let me out of here.”**

**“Damian, just wait-“**

**“No. I want to leave.” He turned around, taking in the cave, trying to map a way out. The only way he could remember that he could take was the elevator, up to the manor. He hoped Bruce would give him a different exit. But seconds passed, and the man didn’t move.**

**“No,” Bruce finally said, “You’re not leaving, Damian. Not after so many years. I’m going to fix you. I’m going to make this right.” He reached for him again, wrapping his hand around Damian’s forearm in an iron grip. “I can get you _help_. Therapy for the years of abuse he’s put you through, medication-“**

**“No!” Damian tugged, but Bruce’s grip was unbreakable. “No drugs, J says they mess your mind too much. Don’t sample the product-“**

**“Damian!” Bruce tugged him closer, and Damian put his free arm between them.**

**“He never _abused_ me,” Damian said, confused. “He’s done nothing but give me _life_.” He tugged on his arm again. “He’s saved me countless times when I would’ve gotten my ass handed to me _or worse_.” Bruce’s lip twitched, his teeth showing slightly, and Damian realized he was snarling.**

**“ _He raped you_.” Damian froze up, staring at Bruce with wide, unbelieving eyes.**

**“W-what?” he asked, and Bruce repeated himself, fingers digging into Damian’s arm, leaving bruises through his leather jacket. “No he didn’t,” Damain said, softer, thinking for a moment. All the times J had touched him, had seemed so close- but no, he’d never done _that_. Damian would remember, considering how badly he grew up wanting him. How badly he still did, even if he buried it so deep inside some days even he could forget.**

**Bruce’s grip loosened a little, his eyes widening. “He never...touched you?”**

**“No,” Damian said, almost laughing now. “Lord knows I would’ve welcomed it. But no, he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Maybe he wanted to, I don’t know, I don’t think so, but he never did. Why? Did you think-“**

**Bruce shoved him back roughly, reaching up to rake a hand through his hair. Damian watched, confused. “Why would you think he-“ Damian cut himself off, his heart stopping. He knew, from the near frantic look in Bruce’s eyes, the way he was tugging in his hair, flexing his hands nervously. “You...Oh god, you two...after I came back.” Damian shook his head, reaching up to rub his temples. “Fuck, you _fucked_ him the whole time, didn’t you? Or the other way around?” Damian was shaking, laughter building in his chest. It was almost _funny_. “Did he threaten it or something? No. I don’t think he did. You _accused_ him of it, didn’t you? You accused him of bending little me over and ravaging me like I was _you_ \- so he stopped playing.” Damian moved closer, smacking Bruce’s hand away from his face to glare up into those dark eyes. “You chased him away and he hasn’t come back, has he?”**

**Bruce gave a wordless scream and shoved Damian back, turning away from him. And Damian knew he was right. “I don’t blame you,” Damian said, watching the nervous ticks Bruce had held in for so long, the twitches, the flexing os his fists. “The Joker...I don’t blame you for _wanting_ him. The rest of the family...they might never understand, but I do. I know the allure in those eyes, the way the curve of his mouth just _drags you in_.” Damian kept his arms at his sides, fingers twitching, wanting to fold himself up but resisting because he didn’t want to seem like he was cutting himself off because of _fear_. “I know why you love him. Runs in our genetics, I’d say.”**

**Bruce turned towards Damian, glaring. “Damian, don’t. You don’t know what you’re-“**

**“I’ve lived with him for nine years. _Nine years_ Bruce. I think I’d know. And I knew the moment he pulled me from the Lazarus Pit and held me. He was the only thing that didn’t _hurt_ , that made me feel good. And fuck if I haven’t tried to convince myself otherwise, but I love-“**

**Damian barely saw him move. A blur in time and space, a glitch, and Bruce was there, his fist colliding with Damian’s jaw. He staggered back, reaching up to clutch it, felt blood welling up in his mouth. He glared at Bruce, at the imposing shadow of the man who helped create him, once upon a lifetime ago.**

**“Can’t stand the idea that someone else might love him too?” When Damian spoke the blood rushed form his mouth, pressed into his hand, seeped through the cracks between his fingers. “Can’t stand that someone _better than you_ loves him, when you love him and he doesn’t love you back.”**

**“He loved me!” Bruce screamed, eyes wide and wild. “The man loved me more than the air he breathed.”**

**“ _Loved_ ,” Damian whispered, pulling his hand away, blood smearing on his chin. “Loved Bruce. Not anymore. How long has it been, hmm? When did he stop coming to you?” Bruce tensed his arm, and Damian readied himself in case he came at him again.**

**“Four years,” he finally said, “But he...it’s still _there_.” Bruce’s eyes were completely black, the last bit of blue gone, and Damian felt almost sorry for him in that moment- except that he had done this to himself, and he wouldn’t forget that.**

**“I’m leaving,” he said, needing this to end. “Point me in the direction of the easiest way out- don’t make me track mud through the manor.”**

**Bruce pointed, and Damian turned on his heel and left, knowing he wouldn’t be back. Knowing Bruce was forever lost to him-**

**He had no real regrets over that.**

**The night air was rather chill by the time he surfaced. He stopped to stare out at Gotham in the distance, and the thought of walking _all the way to the docks_ made his legs ache to the point of agony. He fished around in his pocket, pulling out his phone, deciding he’d rather call in a friend and deal with the questions and looks as to _why_ he was out by Wayne Manor.**

**He was glad it was blondie who had come- Damian liked that name for him- and that he didn’t ask questions, he just drove Damian to the docks, to his bike. The only thing he _did_ ask was if he was okay, when he saw the blood around his mouth and drying on his hand. Damian had smiled and told him not to worry.**

**He wondered what he’d say to H and Pam when he got home. He didn’t want to explain this, not now. Not tonight. He’d just say it was the supplier, that’d work. He could tell J, too, if he was there. But Damian hoped he wasn’t, for once- he needed to all this in, to process it. To _think_.**

**The lights were all off at home, and he found a sticky note on his door. Harley and Ivy had gone out, gotten _cabin fever_. They might be back before morning, might crash at a hide out closer to where they were. Don’t worry, don’t wait up.**

**Damian took the note down and crumpled it in his hand, thankfully for small miracles.**

**He ran water from the bathroom sink and splashed it onto his face. It rinsed and ran pink as it ashed the blood from his jaw and lips and hand. He swished some in his mouth, noticing how it stung in certain places, happy though that none of his teeth were broken. Bruce hit hard, after all. He was thankful for small miracle number two.**

**He left his door half open and stripped of his jack, shirt, and jeans, crawling into his bed in his emerald boxer briefs and sighing as the he curled the blanket around him. His body ached, and sleep would do his mind good-**

**If his mind would stop _turning_. _Four years ago_ he mused, wondering what had spurred Bruce the accuse the Joker then. Or if he’d been accusing him of fucking Damian like a common whore, and it finally just got to be too much.**

**He rolled onto his side, facing the wall, stared at it in the dark, not moving when he heard rustling outside the door, the locks moving, someone slipping in. The locks twisted again, and Damian listened to the footsteps that started down the hallway, stopped at his door. He held his breath, part of him wanting the Joker to keep walking, the other wanting him to _come in_ , that part of him he’d pushed back over the years, the thing inside that stirred and made him _ache_.**

**The door opened with a soft creak, and the Joker took a step inside. Damian knew he had two choices- continue to fake sleep, or acknowledge him. He hesitated, heard the Joker breathing softly, and moved only when he heard the man begin to move- to walk away.**

**“J?” he whispered, and the footsteps came towards him, a hand tracing his shoulder.**

**“Thought you might be, ah, sleeping,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Damian closed his eyes, felt the Joker’s fingertips tracing one of the diamonds on his shoulder. “Everything go alright tonight?”**

**“Had a small issue,” he said, “Seller claimed we’d shorted him. Found the cash on him though, send him running without too much force.” The Joker traced another diamond, than the final one, before his finger dipped down and ran along Damian’s spine. Damian shivered, felt the Joker stop near the small of his back and trace back up.**

**“Would you like him removed from the equation?” the Joker asked, and Damian shook his head.**

**“Not this time. If he tries us again though, we should make an example of him. We can get shit similar to his from Crane- might be pricier, and we’d have to _deal_ with Crane, but we can’t let someone try to challenge us like that.” The Joker smirked, Damian could just tell, and his hand traced down his spine again. This time the fingers dipped lower, along the small of his back, catching the waist of his underwear, and Damian’s breath hitched.**

**The Joker pulled away instantly, and Damian rolled onto his back, looking at him in the dark of his room. His eyes wore a fake calm, Damian could see it peeling from the corners, showing the wild green beneath that was quivering. Damian tried to remember how many times they’d shook like that around him, stared into him.**

**And he knew he couldn’t bury it again, couldn’t ignore the curiosity, the _need_ for answers, to get a little taste of truth. Of desire.**

**“I ran into Batman,” he admitted, and the Joker tensed.**

**“What-“**

**“He took me to the Batcave. Told me...things.” Damian sat up, letting the blanket pool on his lap. He reached a hand up to keep the Joker from interrupting him, and the man obliged, though his eyes gave his anxiety away. “He told me...told me what he accused you of. He thought you raped me.” Damian smiled, chuckled a little. “I set him straight. But I...I need to know something.” He gripped the blankets in his lap, twisted them. “He told me...about you. And him. And I can’t say I’m shocked- I might have been at first but...but I _knew_ , everyone knew how obsessed you were with him, and that Bruce is fucked up enough deep down to want it. But he said you stopped seeing him four years ago...” Damian reached a hand up, reaching out. He meant to grip his jacket, maybe his shirt, but instead he laid his hand flat on his chest, fingers flexing ever so slightly. “I wanna know _why_. Why then?”**

**The Joker was silent, unmoving. He could have become a shadow than, a figment of Damian’s exhausted mind. But Damian felt the shallow movement of his breathing, and that was enough.**

**“J,” he whispered, leaning closer, looking up at him. One of his pale hands reached up, clutched onto Damian’s, while the other traced along his cheek. His skin tingled where the Joker touched him, and Damian’s stomach dissolved into a warm putty, the kind that twisted deliciously with every twitch of his fingers- all feelings Damian had barely felt over the past few years, things he’d been forcing himself to hold down since he was seventeen, when he knew it was no good to dwell on and want and need and crave the thing he could never have, not without severing his tie to the man.**

**One night wasn’t worth losing the only man he could call _daddy_ and mean it.**

**“I met with him the night after I, ah, killed Penguin,” the Joker said, quietly, “And when he accused me, for the countless time, all I could picture was _you_ between that bastard’s fat thighs, how he’d almost...he could have.” His hand tightened around Damian’s and he sank his fingers into his hair, pulling him closer. “I wouldn’t look at Bats after that. Not with that image in my head- not with those eyes thinking I’d...”**

**Damian wasn’t sure if he was breathing anymore. He squirmed slightly, moving closer, safe the fake calm that had settled over the Joker’s eyes ripped away- and they were _wild_. Damian’s lips itched to kiss those eyelids, feel the way his muscles moved beneath the thin skin.**

**His eyes settled on the Joker’s painted mouth, the perfect curves and raised scar tissue. “Babybat,” he whispered, Damian watched him form the words. He bit his tongue for a moment, tried to tell himself this was wrong, this was a _risk_ -**

**But Damian lived for risks.**

**He leaned up as swiftly as he could, closing the gap between them, pressing his mouth to the Joker’s. It felt like his eyes burst behind his eyelids as they fell shut, as he felt what those lips- oddly soft despite the scars- finally felt like against his own. The Joker had frozen again, his hand stilling in Damian’s hair, but Damian pressed on- the deed was done, he knew he might as well dive in head first instead of risk splashing his way to shore. He moved his mouth, slowly, tested the still mouth against his own. His fingers flexed in the Joker’s shirt, his other hand reaching for the Joker’s waist, slipping an arm around him, fitting perfectly _as he always had_.**

**He pulled back slightly, enough so when he opened his eyes they could lock with the seething, swirling psychedelic orbs staring back at him. He felt the Joker’s breath on his lips, felt his heart hammering against his ribs, the sound echoing down to his knotted belly.**

**“Dami-“**

**“Tell me you didn’t like it,” he whispered, “And it won’t happen again. _Lie to me_ , but make it a good lie.” He tried to breath, but his words still came out breathy, timid because he could be ruining _everything_. “Tell me-“**

**He’s cut off when the Joker’s mouth crashes into his own. His heart stops dead, turns to lead and pushes into his stomach as that mouth moves hypnotically against his own, as his head is tipped back and his tongue darts against his lips, traces the seem and flicks them. Damian moaned, fisted both hands in the Joker’s shirt and tugged him closer, falling onto his back on his bed. The sharp sound of fabric tearing filled his ears, the feeling of a button falling onto his chest before bouncing off, falling onto the wooden floor.**

**He gets his hands on pale, warm flesh, and Damian feels for the raised skin, the puckered scars that he knows are there. Each one he finds he traces softly as his mouth opens and the Joker’s tongue is against his, pressing to it, teaching it a slow sort of dance. Damian is dizzy, his limbs shook, but it was _okay_ because the Joker was the source. He had a hand on Damian’s waist, and it trailed down slowly, tracing along the hem of his underwear, the hard muscle that twitched beneath his golden skin.**

**The Joker’s lips and tongue and teeth worried Damian’s mouth until his lip was bleeding where Bruce had split it. The coppery taste filled the kiss, gave it a metallic tang that made Damian’s hips push up, made him _hard_ , made the Joker give a deep groan as his hand slipped lower and cupped him through the thing fabric.**

**He broke the kiss, leaning back, fingers gripping lightly, tracing Damian’s sex, as the young man tried to catch his breath, one hand grabbing onto the Joker’s thigh. The Joker grinned, leaning down and batting the hand away, pressing his lips to Damian’s neck. He trailed down to his collarbone, smeared lipstick along his skin, as his fingers crept to the waistband of Damian’s boxer briefs again, this time hooking in them and pulling them down so his cock could spring free. Damian gasped when the air hit him- cold compared to his burning skin, and cried out when the Joker wrapped his hand around him, stroking him _carefully_ , gently- as if he might break.**

**Damian tilted his head so his neck was exposed, so the Joker could nip and lick it playfully with ease. His hips were rocking with that hand, frustrated with how carefully it moved. The Joker’s thumb swiped over his head one, dragged a slick trail down his length, and Damian moaned- the sound devolving into a growl as the pace he kept.**

**“I won’t break,” he gasped, reaching an arm around the Joker’s shoulders to fist in the back of his jacket, and the man found his mouth again, ravishing it. The moment his tongue was inside Damian again, testing the points of his teeth, the taste in his cheeks, his hand sped up, gripped him harder and tugged so _exquisitely_ that Damian lost his breath and choked. He whimpered, mewled into the man’s waiting mouth, felt his belly coiling up tightly.**

**He tried to speak, to pull back enough to form words, but the Joker chased him, devoured them and drank down his breath. He let every sound Damian uttered slip down his throat and keep in his belly like hot coals. And Damian was delirious enough that he swore he could feel the heat of those coals, the way the fire was burning under the man’s skin.**

**His orgasm hit him with enough force to bruise. His breath choked in his throat and he gave a strangled cry, right into the Joker’s mouth, making the older man shiver. His hips bucked up into his hand, and the Joker stroked him through the waves that tried to drown him, until he his head was bobbing above the water, floating alone in the ocean.**

**When the man pulled back, released Damian’s now swollen lips, his eyelids were heavy. His energy had coursed out through his body, and he was left with the fatigue of the night- though the aches he should have felt were replaced by a pleasant buzzing in his veins.**

**Damian was vaguely aware of the Joker kissing him again, softly this time, his lips, the corner of his mouth, his forehead. He tilted his head up, brushed his cheek along the Joker’s scarred one, and gave him a sleepy, honest smile.**

**The Joker kissed his neck one last time, before he tugged the blanket back over Damian, who curled into it, letting the exhaustion win over. He fell into sleep feeling those eyes watching him and _liking_ it.**


	7. Chapter 7

When Damian became aware of his body again, he was sure he was waking from a rather _pleasant_ dream. He hadn’t had one of those in a while- where the man came to him and _gave in_. They had been prevalent in his youth, when he was sixteen, seventeen. But then the repression had dulled them, and they came only when his mind needed to let out the torrent of attraction he held coiled up inside for the man he looked at with such reverence.

Reached down, expecting to feel his underwear sticking to him uncomfortably, but found nothing but skin and the thatch of dark curls between his legs. His eyes blinked open as he realized his underwear were clinging to his thighs, half way down his ass, his sex free. He tugged them up, wondering how he’d managed that- and wondering how he wasn’t a _mess_. There was no way that orgasm had only been in his dream, he knew.

He threw the blanket off him and stood up, stretching his sore muscles. He slipped out of his room, ducking into the bathroom. He was contemplating a shower, the warm water might soothe the tension, when he passed the mirror and caught a glimpse. He froze, turned fully to stare at himself. His lips were smeared pink, hints of it all along his neck and collar bone. He traces one stain, saw a flash of green curls in his mind and felt a hand expertly touching him.

Damian’s heart was racing. He turned on the water and worked to clean the lipstick from his skin, scrubbing so his skin blushed, his breath choking in his tight throat. This couldn’t be real, this _had_ to have an explanation. It was a _dream_ , Damian knew. He’d worked too hard to keep this pent up inside him to let it spill out so suddenly, too hard to keep the man he loved most from ever knowing or remembering the way Damian touched when he shouldn’t, stared longer than most.

When he was clean he left the bathroom, going one door down and pressing his hand to the wood. He couldn’t be sure if it was just J in there, if H was there too, if she was even home. She usually slept upstairs now, because Ivy was there more often than not, but Damian still found her from time to time curled up into the Joker, sleeping.

He didn’t think she liked to sleep alone.

He took a deep breath and grasped the knob, opening the door. The light from the hallway filtered in, and Damian was relieved to see there was only one body in the bed, sprawled out on his back, the blankets tangled between and around his legs. Legs that lead to a naked, slim waist, to an obscenely pale body lined with scars. _He was naked_.

Damian told himself to breath. This wasn’t abnormal. He’d seen the Joker sleeping naked plenty of times- he’d crawled in and curled up against his naked body when he was a kid, when he couldn’t sleep, when the dark was too much like death. He’d even found excuses to crawl in with him when he was older, when he was trying _so badly_ to seduce him into just one touch, one kiss- sure that he could then convince him he needed more.

But it had been a long time now, and he wasn’t ready for just how _perfect_ he still was, after all these years. If age had been kind to Harley, it had all but blessed the Joker. Maybe it was the array of chemicals that had gotten into him during his rebirth, but the only real evidence of age were a few faint lines on his face that simply made his smile seem all the more _real_ -

Or terrifying, depending on the reasons behind it.

Damian walked quietly across the room, to the large bed positioned neatly in the center. He could hear his heart as it banged against his ribs, created a symphony in his head with the pounding of his blood in his temples. Against it all were two voices inside him, one drowning, telling him to stop, to go back to his room- it hadn’t happened, or whatever had happened _hadn’t happened_. Forget it and don’t risk this, don’t risk the family.

The other voice sang sweetly to him of the skin that could be beneath his fingertips, how the scars would taste against his tongue. How the mouth he’d sampled the night before had more to offer.

He crawled onto the mattress and the Joker stirred, eyes opening. If he was shocked to see Damian, he didn’t show it. Instead he slid over, giving Damian room to lay down next to him. Damian laid on his side, slipping his legs into the tangled blankets, his foot tracing down the Joker’s calf. The pale man slipped an arm beneath him, pressed his palm against his shoulder, pressing into Damian’s tattoo.

“Was it a dream?” he asked, foolishly. He rested his forehead against the Joker’s chest, his eyelashes tickling his skin with each blink. He rose and fell with each breath, like he had as a child, and the voice that spoke rumbled up through the man’s chest.

“Do you want it to be?”

It was a simple question, but what it implied made Damian’s stomach tighten. _It had all happened_ \- and he had the option to pretend, for the rest of his life, that it hadn’t. No repercussions, no loss. Just one brief moment where he’d been kissed by the _only man that mattered_ , one moment where his body got a taste of paradise, before the gates were shut and locked in his face.

They could continue being _normal_ \- their version of normal.

Damian wasn’t sure if he could handle that.

“I,” Damian started, pressing his mouth down against the pale flesh, speaking into it, letting the Joker feel his words more than hear them. “I don’t know.”

He knew, but he was afraid. He wanted, but he couldn’t handle it. The Joker’s fingers dug into his tattoo, holding him firmly.

“I stopped seeing Batman,” he said, into the static silence, “Because what he was accusing me of- all of it, the ways he’d huff at me that I _took_ you, that I defiled you...because it was all _what I wanted_.”

Damian heard the man’s heart pumping, felt it vibrating into his lips, his forehead. It sped up slightly.

“And I couldn’t look at him, knowing someone else saw that.” He shifted, rolled onto his side, jarring Damian from his resting spot on his chest and looked at him, into his dark, _dark_ eyes. “I didn’t, ah, want to _hurt_ you, Babybat. I’ve never wanted so purely to have someone simply _not hurt_.” His other hand reached up, brushed along Damian’s short hair. “I felt it when you first came back...when you were screaming and I was clutching you.” He tipped his forehead down, tucked it against Damian’s chin, and Damian slipped his arms around him, entangling him closer. “I had plans for you, once. I was going to give you to him, as a gift. I was going to _buy_ his love, his forgiveness for the _other_.”

Damian didn’t need a name, he knew it. _Jason_. Everything with Bruce boiled back down to him, and the anger rising in him wasn’t at the man confessing in his arms, but the aging man left alone in a cave with blood on his hands and nothing in his chest.

“But I couldn’t. I thought of it so many times, but, ah, I didn’t want to lose you.” Damian let his fingertips trace bone, sharp under flesh, feel muscles as the contracted and loosened. “And I kept seeing nothing in his eyes, just a hole. One that couldn’t be filled. I didn’t go to him for _fun_ , I went to him out of habit, _duty_ because he is the Bat, and I was the force meant to balance him. Your father broke that balance-“

“Don’t call him that,” Damian said, tipping his head down, lips finding the Joker’s curls. “ _Don’t call him that_.”

“It’s the, ah, truth-“

“I don’t care,” Damian said. “He stopped being my father when I _died_. You became my father when I truly _lived_.” He pulled one hand from the Joker’s back, cupped his cheek and forced him to look up. “And don’t say it- I don’t care about whatever reasons you had for doing it. I care about the fact that for _nine years_ you’ve helped me become...become this. Everything I could have been that he would have stunted.” He leaned closer, let his nose brush the Joker’s. “I love you, J. I’ve loved you since you chased the pain away. I loved you every night you I’d wake up from a nightmare and you were there. I loved you every time you taught me how to _embrace_ the chaos and not let it eat me up. I lov-“

Damian’s words choked in his throat, and he stopped trying to speak. He let his lips press gently to the Joker’s soft, chaste, just a brief movement, before he simply let himself breath against those lips.

“Tell me you didn’t just want me,” Damian whispered, his eyelids feeling heavy, “Tell me you loved me.”

The Joker gripped him and rolled them over, so he was on his back and Damian was on top of him, He sank both his hands into his hair, holding him steady as he kissed him, far from Damian’s chaste kiss. His mouth moved almost frantically, as if he couldn’t get enough of Damian, as if he needed to devour him and swallow down the pieces, let the boy boil inside him. Damian whimpered and squirmed against him, the blankets shifting until the only barrier between flesh was Damian’s underwear and _he’d never hated them so much_.

Damian pushed down against him, rubbed their pelvises together, and the kiss broke so the Joker could gasp. Damian smirked- a smirk the Joker had seen before, Damian saw it in his eyes.

“Do I remind you of Bruce?” he asked as he carefully positioned himself so his hardening cock pressed against the Joker’s. The man squirmed, looked at him with shocked eyes, before they turned _playful_.

“Yes,” he admitted, one hand finding Damian’s hip, fingers curling up it, brushing the swell of his ass.

“Would you rather have him here?” Damian asked, leaning down to find the Joker’s pulse point in his neck and suck on it. The man’s eye lids fluttered. Damian liked that he hesitated, because it meant he was _thinking_ , that Damian would get an honest answer.

“No,” the Joker finally breathed, clutching Damian’s flesh tighter. “No, when I stopped seeing him I...I stopped _wanting him_.”

“And you wanted me more?” He rocked their hips together and the Joker let out a sweet cry, the kind that made Damian’s shiver.

“Yesss,” he hissed. He pulled Damian down for another kiss, rolling them once more so that he was on top of Damian. He ran his hands down his sides, grasped Damian’s underwear and tugged, squirming to get his weight off the boy so he could pull them down. Damian cried out into his mouth, felt his cock rubbing against the Joker’s, and for a moment feared it might all end then and there. He pushed at the Joker lightly, whimpering.

“I-I don’t wanna,” he started, licked his lips, his throat threatening to close. “Not _yet_.” The Joker chuckled and moved off of him, flipping Damian over and settling between his legs. Damian slipped his arms under a pillow and clutched it, felt the Joker’s hands grasp the flesh of his ass and open him up. The air hit him before the Joker’s warm tongue replaced it, made Damian cry out and arch his hips up, trying to get closer. He felt the Joker laugh against him as he kneaded the flesh in his hands, his tongue tracing his entrance gently.

Damian squeezed his eyes shut, gasping, his mind shattering with every flick of that tongue. When it tried to push beyond the tight ring of muscles he nearly screamed, his cock jumping, weeping with excitement. One touch, that was all he’d need, and he’d be gone. And _oh_ , he wanted to ask for it, but yet he wanted this to never end, the clenching of his belly, the ache between his legs, the sweet race of his heart within his ribs.

Suddenly the Joker’s tongue pulled away though, and a slick finger replaced it. Damian gave a small yelp, unprepared, and one hand stroked along the curve of his ass reassuringly. “I can stop,” the Joker whispered- affectionately, Damian realized- _kindly_.

“No,” he mewled, pushing back against that hand. When a second finger joined he expected it, anticipated it, and rocked with the man, chewing on his lip as he was carefully stretched. When a third finger finally joined Damian was going mad, wanting _more_. He groaned as the Joker’s fingertips pressed against his prostate, turning back. “ _Daddy please_ ,” he whimpered, and suddenly the Joker was pulling back. Damian saw his tongue lash out along his palm, his hand disappear, presumably to stroke himself, and then he was _there_ , pressing against Damian’s hole and making him moan because _god he wanted it- had wanted it so long_ -

He cried out as the Joker slipped in, inch by slow, slightly painful inch. Damian bit his lip until it bled, but pushed back against him regardless, needing it, needing to have him there, somewhere inside him where he couldn’t leave, couldn’t disappear. And when he was buried to the hilt, one hand gripping Damian’s hip, the other soothingly rubbing along his back, Damian felt _satisfied_. He smiled to himself, kept that smile as the Joker pulled his hips back and snapped them forward, even as he moaned and cried out and tried to raise his ass to improve the angle. The Joker chuckled and shifted his hips, hitting that sweet spot inside Damian that made him see stars.

Damian released the pillow he was clutching, but stayed slumped down, his hand slipping beneath him and grasping at his cock. He got a few light, struggled strokes in, before he was crying out, frustrated, because it wasn’t _enough_. The Joker laughed behind him- Damian felt ti rumble through his entire body and into his own, and he reached around him, grasping his cock in his hand and stroking in time with his thrusts.

Damian arched and cried out, nearly screaming after just a few movements, unable to hold himself back. His muscles spasmed around the Joker as his orgasm dripped along his fingers and splashed Damian’s abdomen. The Joker’s other hand dug into his hip with bruising force as he groaned, letting Damian’s orgasm rip his own from his body- letting Damian milk him utterly dry.

Damian collapsed first, pulling free of the Joker and giving a dissatisfied moan at the loss of contact. The Joker followed, slipping behind him and wrapping his arms around him, peppering kisses along his neck. Damian smiled, curling into him, closing his eyes and feeling drowsy again. The Joker’s fingers stroking alonf his hyper sensitive, post coital skin, didn’t help.

Damian dozed, he must have, for the next thing he knew he was hearing the slam of a door and the sounds of laughter. He opened his eyes, felt the Joker stirring behind him, kissing his cheek softly before climbing over his body, rummaging around for a pair of pants and then slipping out of the room. Damian nestled down into his pillow for a moment, listening to the harmony of voices, how soothing they felt from behind a thick wall. Soothing because they were _there_ like they had been, because he’d had the Joker inside him and his life hadn’t fallen down around him.

With a sigh Damian pushed himself up and stood. He stretched, felt a pleasant ache that reminded him exactly what he’d just done. With a smile he slipped his underwear on, and padded over to the door, opening it.

Across from him, Harley was in the kitchen, mid-sentence with the Joker, who was off in the living room. She turned, saw Damian standing there, and the words died on her lips as she took him in- short hair disheveled, almost naked, with that happy smile on his face. She stared for a moment, her mouth going slack, and Damian went cold. Suddenly, he feared what she might say, do. After all, Joker had been _her’s_ once- even if he wasn’t now, by her choice just as much as his.

And then she was yelling, “Joker!” and walking over to Damian, ruffling his hair and laughing. “I don’t know if I should punch him or kiss him,” she said, hugging Damian. “I think it depends- are you happy, Dami?”

Damian blushed, but wrapped his arms around Harley and held her tightly, nuzzling into her comforting blonde hair. _Happy_?

Yes, Damian thought thse warm tendrils gripping at his belly were some form of _happy_.

Harley knew, had known about Damian’s crush, he found out as the day went. She teased him, said he was obviously a love-sick child. And she didn’t fault him for it- all she said was that she _understood_ the Joker’s appeal. She had, after all, once upon a time, been in his position- except not so young, and the Joker had never looked at her with the tenderness he tried to mask for Damian.

Ivy had been there, as well, and had simply giggled and gave Damian a loving pat on his butt, teasing. Damian had laughed and hugged her without her having the chance to pull away.

It was surreal, he knew, as he lay in the Joker’s bed that night. He hadn’t even made an attempt to hide that was where he would be sleeping that night- walked right in as the other three were still awake, so they could see, and slipped under the blanket, letting the sweet scent that was partial to the Joker and had seeped into his sheets and pillows waft over him. He could feel his blood humming inside him, and there was nothing outside this small space that was home- no one that existed except for Pam and H and their smiles, no one else except J that could wrap their arms around him.

Damian sighed and closed his eyes, embraced the cool blackness for a sweet moment, before he heard the voices outside the room go quiet, and then the Joker’s booming. His eyes shot open as his footsteps came quickly, as he burst in, holding his phone and nearly screaming into it. He tossed it away a moment later, rummaged for clothing, and Damian was up, confused.

He stopped a few steps from him, waiting, watching as the Joker slipped a purple jacket on, left his black button down opened by a few buttons and tieless. When he looked at Damian, his eyes were seething, and Damian knew before the Joker spoke.

“The Bat.”

Damian had dressed lightning fast, and found himself in the back of a car with Harley as the Joker drove. Ivy had stayed behind- her time away from Gotham had taken her out of the crime ring, and despite her relationship with Harley, she kept her hands clean. She remained on edge back at the hide out, in case she needed to abandon her retirement for Harley’s safety. Damian knew she would.

They sped through the narrows, making a sharp right when the Joker saw flashing lights in the distance. He cursed, stopped the car and pounding on the steering wheel. Just two blocks down was an old warehouse they used for storage of some of their narcotics, and often housed many of their runners and dealers that weren’t connected to any other gang or organization. It had just been stocked a few days prior, and nothing had been handed out or sold yet. The cops siezing it was a massive loss to their funds.

“How do you know it was him?” Harley asked, and the Joker glared at her.

“Who the _fuck_ else could it have been?” He snarled, looking back out the windshield. “Besides, got a call from one of my contacts. A few escaped and ran to him. They said they saw the big bad Bat- that he beat most of them senseless before the cops came.” He gritted his teeth. “There’s nothing we can do now.”

He turned the car around, and Damian wanted to yell at him to stop. He’d go up against the cops, he didn’t care how out numbered he was. He’d risk it for the _family business_ \- but he knew J would never let him. So he sat silently, scowling just as the Joker was, tapping his fingers on his thigh.

They didn’t go home, though. They stopped off at the personal home of the _contact_ the Joker had mentioned, went in so the Joker could hear it from the three men who had gotten out. Harley spoke with the contact, slipping into a cool, calm persona with eyes that gleamed with chaos. Damian hadn’t seen her like that in a while, and it was warming to know the monster was still awake inside her.

That left Damian to wonder the waiting room of the rather spacious and flamboyant house, lost in his thoughts. Bruce had never struck out against the Joker like this in years. It was almost as if he’d given up on fighting him and focused his energy on the men below him, on the other terrors that still struck Gotham. Frankly, he avoided him, and Damian was sure he could think of endless reasons why.

So something had spurred this on. Something had pushed Bruce over and made him decide it was _finally time_ to target the Joker again-

Damian was, without a doubt, sure it was _him_. He gritted his teeth and cursed his _father_ for not just leaving him be, letting him live on as a memory, and allowing him to become what he was always meant to-

Chaos. Power. The Joker’s one true son and heir. His _babybat_.

Damian folded his arms as he paced the room, stopped by a large fireplace and looked at the decorative swords hanging above it. Thin, lean, sharp. Damian resisted reaching out to touch one, but could feel its weight in his hand, giving him far better reach than a knife did, could feel it slicing through the air and into Kevlar, into skin-

Could see Bruce bleeding and hear him screaming. He licked his lips, and Damian knew exactly what needed to be done.

Joker came walking in shortly after, Harley following, the two talking. Damian turned from where he had remained, by the fire, and looked at them as he was cast in the warm orange light. Harley stopped a few feet back, but the Joker walked closer, seeing something in Damian’s nearly black eyes.

“Babybat,” he whispered- not a question, a prompt, and Damian gave him a Joker worthy smile.

“It’s simple,” he said, “I’ve got it all figured out, _daddy_.” He closed the gap, folded into the Joker’s arms and nipped at his earlobe playfully, despite the strange surroundings, and Harley’s watching eyes. When he next spoke it was a breathy whisper, one that made the Joker tense against him-

“We kill the Bat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lack of updates, I am back in class, and along with working on finishing up my daily challenge, I'm working on my entries for Batman/Joker week, starting Sunday! So the updates may fall off for this until after, we shall see :)  
> And I've never thrown this out at the end of my fics, but feel free to keep up with me on [Tumblr](http://madnizilla.tumblr.com/)! Sometimes I post about my fics, or give updates as to when I might get an update out! Also, I like to talk :3

**Author's Note:**

> I had to look up where the Lazarus Pits are located, because honestly I wasn't sure how many were left, and there's apparently one in the Australian Outback. So I thought, why not, I'll use that one.  
> I also apologize if everyone seems a bit out of character, the set up didn't give me much of a chance to show off the insanity we all know and love. But honestly, you can't just live out of temporary hideouts forever, gotta have something a little more stable _somewhere_.


End file.
